O Mine Enemy
by Kirby Lane
Summary: When Harry finds a battered Snape on his doorstep, events are set in motion that will determine the outcome of the war. 6th year, ignores HBP. Eventually Snape mentors Harry. Response to Bil's Challenge.
1. Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter One – Unexpected Visitor:**

"_Crucio!"_

_He lifted the curse. But not for long. He watched the traitor writhe in pain as the next curse was cast._

_How he loved the pain caused by this simple curse. He remembered with fondness his youthful days of experimenting with torture curses, and yet he found no joy comparable to the absolute ecstasy of casting this one spell and watching the pure, absolute and total pain it caused._

"_Crucio!"_

_He laughed. It came out as a cackle. He was angry, no mistaking that. Yet, his rage at the newly discovered traitor had found an outlet in his favorite curse._

"_My Lord…" came a hesitant voice from his left. _

_An interruption. His rage bubbled to the surface again, and turning, he found a new object for its relief._

"_Crucio!" The rat-like man dropped to the ground, screaming in pain. "You dare to interrupt me, Wormtail?"_

_M-my Lord, I have brought th-the information y-you desired," the small man stuttered, shaking from the effects of the curse, "…about P-Potter…"_

_His long legs reached the rat in two graceful strides and he snatched the papers from the shorter man's trembling hands. Yes…yes, it was all here. His need to cast torture curses abated as a feeling of impending triumph replaced it. They had wasted enough time already; they must put The Plan into action._

"_Lucius," he hissed, seeking out his most trusted follower. "Wormtail begins watch in one hour. We strike the next time the boy leaves the house. You know what to do then. Follow The Plan." His lips twisted in anticipation for this, his final encounter with the Boy Who Lived._

_A sudden commotion occurred off to the left. "He's getting away!" a voice called._

_He turned too late, as the tortured traitor reached the edge of the clearing and apparated away. "You fools," he thundered, rage taking over once again. "He can't have gone far in this state. Find him and when you do, bring his dead body to me!"_

_His mood properly spoiled, he searched for a new victim, any victim._

"_Crucio!"_

Harry Potter awoke with a start, his scar throbbing in pain. Another vision, he immediately realized with a groan. Of course, the pounding on his door was enough to set off a headache by itself.

"Get up, you lazy boy! You have fifteen minutes to get breakfast on the table…OR ELSE!"

Uncle Vernon had taken to tacking on that last bit to every order lately. Probably figured it made him sound more threatening.

Harry sighed. "Yes, Uncle Vernon." With this headache, it would probably be best to avoid getting on Uncle Vernon's bad side today. No matter how much he hated being treated like a house-elf, sometimes it was best to swallow his pride and fly under the radar.

Pushing the vision aside for later contemplation, Harry hurriedly dressed and had eggs, bacon, and Dudley's waffles on the stove in under a minute. He quickly sneaked a finger full of batter – he never knew when Aunt Petunia might decide to cut back on his food rations again – and was just about to mix up some orange juice when he thought he heard a noise coming from down the hall.

Harry stopped, listening carefully. There it was again – a solid thud, slightly louder this time. It sounded like it was coming from outside the front door.

He cautiously approached the door, raising a metal whisk in the air…just in case…and looked out the peephole. Nothing. Maybe it was an animal? Still feeling the need for caution, Harry stooped to the mail slot and slowly opened it to peek out.

Suddenly, several long fingers reached inside, sending a startled Harry flying backward with a yelp.

"Potter!" The fingers seemed to speak, still there, bloody and scratched. Harry blinked. A pair of dark, bloodshot eyes joined the hand in peering through the mail slot. "Potter." The voice spoke again, weaker this time. The voice was familiar.

"P-Professor?" Harry croaked, now more confused than startled. What on earth would _Professor Snape_ be doing on _Harry's_ doorstep, of all places?

Snape was speaking again, so low that Harry had to strain to make out his words. "Must…not leave…stay…house…" his words trailed off, the hand and face disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared. Harry heard another thud over the firm clang of the mail slot falling closed.

Harry sat there for a full minute, too stunned to move. Finally jerked into action by a sound from upstairs, he scrambled to the door and slowly pulled it open, peering around the door jam. He nearly retched at the sight before him. An unconscious Snape was strewn in a dirty, bloody, bruised heap. But that disturbed Harry only slightly more than what the man was wearing. The Death Eater robes brought back a string of better-forgotten memories for Harry, even if Snape had apparently ditched the mask prior to arriving.

Pausing only long enough to imagine the Dursleys' reactions to finding a dirty, bloody wizard on their front step, Harry rolled the body over and hooked his arms under Snape's, dragging him inside inch by inch.

_This would be a lot easier if I weren't small for my age,_ Harry groused to himself after dragging the body only partway down the hall.

He felt the sudden rush of adrenaline as Dudley's big feet pounded in the upstairs hallway. Only another minute or two, and the Dursleys would be downstairs. And Harry had absolutely no clue what to do with Snape's limp body.

…or did he…?

Harry impulsively flung open the closest door and the only one he knew for sure the Dursleys would not open – the cupboard under the stairs. He could still fit in there with room to spare, so the space would be sufficient to hide a Death Eater's unconscious body from a few Muggles for an hour or so. It's just a good thing Snape _was_ unconscious. If he knew he'd been stuffed in a cupboard like a sack of potatoes, Harry predicted that not getting into advanced potions would be the least of his worries with the dreaded professor.

He sighed with relief as the cupboard door closed on its occupant…until he noticed the trail of dirt and blood he had left in his wake by dragging Snape's body. He scrambled to the kitchen as fast as his legs would carry him, making a beeline for the towels.

"Augh!" His nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of burnt food. He wavered momentarily, then ran back out to clean up the floor. The burnt food would cost him, but it would be easier to explain than the floor.

The floor had barely been rid of its incriminating evidence when the slam of a door was followed by the telltale stomp of Dudley's footfalls on the stairs.

Harry winced, hoping that Snape wasn't easily awakened from whatever state he was in.

"Eww! Harry burned the food!" Dudley turned right around after peeking through the kitchen door. "Mum! Dad! Harry burned the food! And I want breakfast!" Dudley whined at the top of his lungs, but he looked at Harry with a grin on his face. He loved to see his cousin in trouble, and Harry had just made it way too easy for him this morning.

Vernon preceded Petunia down the stairs, and Harry quickly hid the soiled towels in a plant by the front door as they both stormed past him and into the kitchen.

No point in hiding, he figured, and resignedly trailed behind them.

As soon as he'd walked through the door, he winced again, this time in pain, as Uncle Vernon jerked him by his already tired arm and yanked him over to the stove, his fat red face explosive with anger. "What – how – you – BOY!" Vernon stuttered, then took a breath. And another.

And another. Vernon couldn't seem to be able to form words, his face growing even more red.

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia continued for Vernon, "You cook my Dudleykins' breakfast right this minute. And you can forget about any yourself! Just look at all the food you've wasted!" she wailed in an incredibly high pitched tone. "As if having to put up with your freakishness all summer isn't enough – you have to try to burn our house to the ground as well!" Her bony face was pinched, turning ever whiter throughout her rant. She continued, punctuating each of her final words with a fierce jab of a bony finger at Harry's chest. "Get. To. Work. Now! And Clean. This. Mess!"

Harry could feel his temper starting to rise, and it took all the willpower he possessed to fight it down, especially with Uncle Vernon's vice grip still on his arm. _Not worth it. Not worth it. Just keep telling yourself it's not worth it._ When he felt past the danger point, he spoke through gritted teeth, "Yes, Aunt Petunia," and, shaking himself free, set back to making breakfast for the Dursleys.

* * *

One hour later, Harry pulled open the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He stood back just in case Snape had woken, realized where he was, and decided to kill Harry. Snape's limp arm fell from his side and hit the ground under the cupboard, attesting to his still-unconscious state. Harry let out the shallow breath he'd been holding and pulled the man shoulders-first out of the cupboard and around to the foot of the stairs.

Not for the first time, he wished he was allowed to use magic during the summer. The stairs loomed above him, and Harry's shoulder was still sore from where Uncle Vernon had jerked it. His headache, though not as pounding as when he'd first woken up, had never completely left.

Nevertheless, he had to get Snape upstairs to his room, and he had to do it now. Uncle Vernon had gone to meet with a client, and Aunt Petunia had just left to take Dudley shopping for a new computer to replace the one he'd broken yesterday. Harry figured he had a good few hours before they got home, but he was expected to be weeding the garden that entire time, too.

He sat on the first step, hooked his arms under Snape's from behind, and scooted first himself, then Snape, up one step…two steps…and three. He continued that way up the entire flight of stairs and couldn't help feeling some satisfaction at how sore Snape's bum was going to be when he awoke.

By the time he'd pulled Snape into his bedroom, his shoulder was throbbing in beat with his head. Snape was staying on the floor, Harry decided. There was no way he'd get him on the bed and still have enough good will left in him to see to his injuries.

Not that he had much good will in him toward the Potions Master to begin with. Remembering loads of memories, both in and out of class, to back that up, he felt the remainder of that so-called "good will" abruptly leave. Hadn't he already done more than enough in bringing him up here? Not to mention that no thanks to Snape, Harry would be lucky if he ate at all today. And it's not like Snape would have a problem leaving Harry to die if the roles were reversed.

"Hah! You'd probably draw up a chair just to watch me die!" Harry exploded at the still-unconscious man. "Well, you can just stay there and suffer for all I care! And believe me – I _don't _care!"

Harry stormed out, feeling the tiniest bit avenged for years of ridicule and embarrassment. He could get rather used to a Snape who couldn't talk.

His evil grin faltered when he stared down at the staircase and hall to a now-familiar trail of dirt spotted with blood. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his head and firmly decided that revenge or no, he was having a very, very bad day.


	2. An Inconvenient Conscience

**Chapter Two – An Inconvenient Conscience**

The sun was hot on his skin, but the cool breeze more than made up for it. Harry was flat on his back on the green grass, basking in that glorious breeze, and in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care how angry Aunt Petunia would be over how few weeds he'd managed to pull this morning. All he wanted to think about was how good the cool fresh air felt on his lessening headache and the relief in his shoulder at a much-needed break from scrubbing and cleaning. He felt…almost happy.

The "almost" part he blamed on the intruder (for that's what he'd decided Snape was) upstairs in his very own bedroom. He didn't feel guilty for leaving him with his injuries. Not guilty _at all_…or so he kept telling himself.

Why couldn't he just forget about him and be completely happy right now? It wasn't Harry's fault Snape had gotten himself in trouble, after all. And only Merlin knew what help he thought he'd find at Harry's house. _Serves him right,_ Harry repeated to himself, not for the first time, and pushed away his nagging conscience.

He closed his eyes tight against the sun and tried to think of anything but his intruder. So lost was he in his thoughts that he didn't at first hear the screeching of tires in the street or the piercing scream. A simultaneous car horn and crash jolted Harry out of his reverie.

Jumping up, he saw that a car had crashed into a tree a few houses down. Nearby, a child's bicycle lay on its side in the street.

_A bicycle._ Where was the child?

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

He ran through the yard, one purpose in mind. He had to help. He had to make sure they were okay. Was anyone moving in the car? He couldn't tell. Wait, there was something moving on the hood. Jumping off, running away. Too small to be a person – more like a…rat?

Harry skidded to a stop just shy of the sidewalk. A rat. Why did this feel wrong to him? Warning bells were going off in his head. A rat…

The vision! Harry had pushed it to the back of his mind in the chaos of the morning, but it came rushing back. Something about Harry…and a plan…and Wormtail watching something. And…

Harry felt chilled all over as he recalled Voldemort's words. _We strike the next time the boy leaves the house._

His breaths were coming in short gasps now. He had left the house. Uncle Vernon had locked up his wand two days ago as a punishment for threatening Dudley. He was defenseless. He spun around, fully expecting to see Death Eaters ready to snatch him or kill him or whatever "strike" meant to them.

No one was there. Not about to push his luck, he sprinted back inside the house, dead-bolting the door behind him. A peek out the window reassured Harry that other neighbors had gone to the accident scene to help. There was still no sign of Death Eaters.

He forced himself to calm. What else had he seen in his vision? Voldemort had spoken of a plan – a plan involving Harry. Before that, he had been torturing someone. He'd called him a traitor. But the traitor had gotten away, apparated away just before Harry woke up.

Just before breakfast...

Snape's words came back to him then. His weak voice had trailed off and Harry hadn't fully absorbed – or cared, really – what he'd been trying to tell him.

_Must…not leave…stay…house…_

It was obvious now what he had been trying to vocalize. The only logical conclusion was that Snape had been found out as a spy and tortured. If he was in fact the traitor in the vision, he must have barely had enough strength left to run outside Voldemort's warded area to apparate away. And when he did, he came to number four, Privet Drive.

Professor Snape, after being thoroughly beaten and tortured, came to warn Harry. And now he was lying on Harry's hard floor, probably still bleeding from his untended injuries.

The pangs of guilt he'd tried to ignore a few minutes before came back in full force, joined with the horrible feeling of shame.

* * *

Snape was in the same place Harry had left him, flat on his back, eyes closed. Harry knelt beside him, not quite sure what to do. He hadn't exactly been Healer trained. He certainly didn't have any potions on hand. All he had was water, towels, and some pathetically small band-aids.

Plus, the prospect of having to actually touch the dirty, greasy Potions Master didn't exactly have him thrilled, no matter the semblance of gratitude he maybe, might possibly have felt…sort of…toward the man a few minutes ago.

Well, better just get to it, then.

The head was a logical place to start. Harry bit back his nausea at touching the git's greasy head, forcing himself to quickly prod the back of his skull to feel for any bumps or cuts. That done, he gingerly dabbed his forehead with a damp towel, then applied a little more pressure when that barely worked. Other than a few scratches, his head seemed to be fine.

Carefully removing the Death Eater cloak from the still body, he desperately wanted to throw it away, as far away as possible. Instead, he rolled it up as small as he could and tossed it to the farthest corner under his bed.

The shirt was more difficult – it had stuck to the blood on Snape's skin. Harry resorted to cutting it off with scissors and sucked in a breath at Snape's dirt- and blood-strewn chest and arms. The blood was mostly dry, but he couldn't tell where most of it had come from.

The injuries actually weren't as bad as he had thought once he got the dirt and blood pretty well wiped off. Other than the bruises, he had several cuts and scratches along his arms, most of which Harry figured were caused by his escape through the brush and branches. A few deeper cuts on his chest were probably the result of torture curses, but they didn't look serious, as long as he could keep them from getting infected.

Probably the main part of the damage had been done to his nerves with the Cruciatus curse, Harry guessed.

He glanced over the rest of Snape's body. There was no way he was removing his trousers, he quickly decided. Injured or no, Snape would never forgive him for that intrusion. He'd kill Harry the moment he woke up.

Now he just needed something to clean the wounds. He ran out of the room and returned with some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom cabinet.

What now? Was he supposed to pour it over the wounds or was he supposed to put some on a cloth and just dab it on? Or something else? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't been exactly generous in giving him medicine or seeing to his injuries growing up, so when it came to the Muggle way of doing these kinds of things, he was pretty much lost.

He decided against poring it directly on the skin. Aunt Petunia would be sure to notice if the whole bottle was missing. They counted _everything_ after he was alone in the house. Rather than locking him in his room and chancing "that odd-eyed freak" finding out about it, they'd taken to keeping meticulous track of every item of value or of food in the house, both before they left and after they returned. Of course, after about a month with no sign of anyone from the Order, they weren't being quite so cautious about some things anymore. They were back to yelling, calling him a freak, and giving him extra chores. Harry was actually surprised they _hadn't_ taken to locking him in his room again. The only real reason he didn't outright defy them was that he knew he might be stuck here at least another month and it could get worse for him if he pushed the limits.

Harry pored some rubbing alcohol on his last clean towel. It didn't seem wet enough, so he pored some more and touched the towel to Snape's scratched arm first – might as well start small. The arm twitched under his touch, startling Harry a little. He'd gotten used to a still subject. He continued applying it to both arms and went on to his chest. The first cut was pretty deep – he should probably put a little more rubbing alcohol on the towel. He touched the wet towel to the cut, letting the excess liquid drip into the wound.

Snape's eyes snapped open with a loud groan. He immediately pushed himself up, almost knocking into Harry, who scooted back quickly, upsetting the container of rubbing alcohol. He caught it up, but not before half its contents had spilled out onto the floor. So much for Aunt Petunia not noticing.

"Potter," Snape snapped, then immediately winced at the pain that caused. "What in Merlin's name are you doing to me?" he demanded, lowering his volume but not his tone. His arms were trembling slightly from the effort of holding himself up. Other than that, he looked alert. His narrowed eyes darted around the room to take in his surroundings, and Harry cringed at how the small room must look to Snape. His old beat-up desk was the nicest piece of furniture on the bare floor, and threadbare sheets lined the one small bed. At least he couldn't see the bars on the window or the padlocked trunk from where he was sitting. Snape had to feel worse than he wanted to let on – the usually vigilant man hadn't even attempted to turn around to take in the rest of the room.

"I…er…um – Infection!" Harry held out the bottle. "It's a Muggle way to clean cuts."

Snape shifted his weight and snatched the bottle from Harry's hands.

"Rubbing alcohol?" he sneered and scanned over the ingredients before thrusting it back at Harry. "I don't need some fool Muggle potion." He looked around the room again. "Where is Dumbledore?" he demanded.

"He's not here, Professor," Harry spoke slowly, thinking Snape must be confused. "You're at my house, remember? You showed up on my doorstep – "

"I do not have a memory problem, Potter," Snape snapped. "You did owl him, did you not? I would think even a meager brain such as yours would have thought of that?"

Harry bit back a retort. He actually _hadn't _thought of it. Not that it would have mattered.

"I sent out my owl last night – to the Order," Harry added at Snape's narrowed eyes. "I'm supposed to owl them every three days. And I told Hedwig to go to the Weasleys until I need her again. She likes it there – lots of room and hunting…" Harry realized he was rambling. "Anyway, she won't be back for a couple days."

Snape's glare was downright hostile.

"But you're awake now, sir. You can apparate…or make a portkey…or something…" Harry trailed off.

Snape gave him a look of pure exasperation. "Look around, Potter! Did you see my wand in the robes you apparently stoleoff my back? I cannot use what the Dark Lord has! And apparition!" He snorted. "Are you really so daft? Dumbledore made anti-apparition wards in and around this house the moment you moved in. In my weakened state, by the time I reached outside the wards, I'd never be quick enough to escape the dozens of Death Eaters who would have been instantly called the moment I stepped out the door!"

That must have reminded him of his initial purpose in coming there because Snape leaned forward as much as he could manage. "Potter, this house is being watched. You are not to leave under any circumstances. No outings of any kind! Do you understand? Nothing – I do not care in the slightest what parties you are planning to attend."

Harry wanted to hand Snape a good hard curse for his superior authoritative tone, even if it did indicate he wasn't as injured as Harry had first feared. But this was his opportunity to find out about Voldemort's plan. Harry opened his mouth to interrogate Snape about what he knew and why Death Eaters hadn't gotten to him earlier when they'd had the chance. But before he could get a sound out, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia. She must have seen all the unpicked weeds.

Interrogation would have to wait.

"Listen," Harry rushed to explain, "My relatives don't know you're here. If they find out, well… Just…stay in here, okay? And be quiet. They never come in this room if they don't have to."

"What a surprise," Snape dryly remarked. "Where exactly did you put me, the prison tower?" He scowled at yet another glance at his accommodations.

"Erm…just don't leave, okay?" Harry blurted out on his way to the door.

"I am not dying to explore your house, Potter. Go," he snapped at Harry's uncertain glance. "I won't be leaving this room unless you put us _all _in danger by _leaving this house._"

Harry shut the door on Snape's slow inching toward the bed.

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia's voice was louder and shriller this time. Harry quickly replaced the rubbing alcohol on his way past the bathroom and took the stairs two at a time. If he was going to be yelled at, he wanted to be as far out of Snape's hearing range as possible.

Aunt Petunia was waiting for him at the front door, her stance rigid at having to be kept waiting. Dudley shoved past him up the stairs with a box that looked to contain a new DVD player.

"Are you determined to be trouble today?" Petunia demanded. "First breakfast, now this!" she held up a soiled towel between two fingernails, far away from her body.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He had forgotten about the towels he'd hidden in the plant earlier that morning.

"And you haven't even started on the weeds! Just you wait until Vernon gets home, boy! Now, bring in Dudley's new things and start working on those weeds!" She pulled open the door and gestured for him to precede her. "Well? Don't stand there – get going!"

Harry was glad he was just dealing with Aunt Petunia right then. She wasn't near as threatening as Uncle Vernon or Dudley, both of whom didn't have a problem at all with physical intimidation. Petunia hadn't laid a hand on him since he'd hit his latest teenage growth spurt – except for the occasional finger jab, of course. When it came down to it, Aunt Petunia was pretty much all talk.

"Um, Aunt Petunia, I can't go outside right now." It was worth a try, anyway.

Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed into slits. "_What_ did you say?"

In that instant, Harry decided that a version of the truth was actually something he could use in this situation.

"Well, you see," he began, sweetly over-respectful, "that bad wiz– I mean, you know, that bad guy back and out to get me – well, he's got somebody watching the house, and if I go outside he'll know I'm home and come out of his hiding place and use-" he dropped his voice to a whisper – "_magic_." That was probably enough to scare her, but he knew how to clinch it. "And then all the neighbors might see…"

Aunt Petunia slammed the door shut. "Be quiet! Do you want everyone to hear you!?" she trilled. "Get these towels cleaned up!" She shoved him further into the house, tiptoeing around to the living room to peer out the curtains, eyes wide.

Harry grinned as he left the room. Aunt Petunia was so distracted by his story, he could probably wheedle some extra food out of her. After all, he'd have to feed Snape too, for however long he was stuck here. Hah! If Snape had sneered at his room accommodations, he was going to be even less thrilled when he saw what was on the menu.


	3. Close Quarters

**Chapter Three – Close Quarters**

Harry watched Snape examine his soup as if it might come alive. The Professor cautiously took a bite and promptly gagged.

"Are you trying to poison me, Potter?" he demanded, pushing aside the bowl of canned soup and piece of bread Harry had managed to secure from Aunt Petunia. Harry wished Snape would just eat it. He didn't always get this lucky. The Dursleys weren't exactly starving him, but he still didn't know from day to day how much food he was going to get, and now with two mouths to feed…

"I'll need clothes." Snape abruptly abandoned the topic of food and appraised Harry's thin frame, decked out in some of Ron's old clothes. "Perhaps those of your uncle?"

Harry smirked. "You've never met Uncle Vernon, have you?"

Snape continued to look at him, showing no reaction.

Harry erased his smirk. "Never mind. His clothes wouldn't fit you, is all. Some of Dudley's old clothes will have to do. They won't be your fashion of choice, but…well, they're clothes." He rummaged around in his wardrobe for a shirt and a pair of trousers that wouldn't set Snape to sneering straight off. He settled on a button-down shirt that was a few years old so shouldn't be _too_ baggy on Snape's adult frame, and a pair of trousers that would need to be held up with a belt but were still in pretty good shape. He handed both to Snape, along with a belt and some socks for good measure, then checked to make sure the coast was clear.

"Aunt Petunia will be downstairs for a while. I don't know how long Dudley's new stuff will keep him occupied. You can use the toilet to clean up and change. Just…um, try to hurry."

Snape gingerly limped to the toilet and closed the door behind him without a word.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry stood in the kitchen watching water boil – not out of boredom, but with interest at the way it sort of mirrored real life. The way the bubbles started out so small, clinging to the edge of the pot, then rising and getting larger and more furious every second…well, it bore a striking resemblance to the growing rage he'd seen on Uncle Vernon's face before Aunt Petunia had pulled him out of the kitchen to calm him down.

Only a few bits of their conversation drifted back through the kitchen, but it was enough to reveal that Aunt Petunia was trying to talk her husband out of dishing some punishment out on Harry. Not for the sake of "the boy," of course. No, of course not. It was because "those freaks" might find out.

Harry felt a familiar rise of resentment toward the Dursleys. Would it have been so horrible for them to at least pretend to like having him around these past 15 years? It seemed the least they could do for Petunia's only sister's only son. But instead they had to lock him up in a cupboard for ten years and literally behind bars the last five. Not to mention the chores and the bullying. The more he dwelled on it, the more awful memories he recalled.

The hum of the boiling water pulled him from his thoughts, and Harry welcomed the distraction of finishing dinner for the Dursleys. The methodical adding of ingredients – a little of this, a little of that, not so measured as in Potions – helped him to clear his mind, something he sorely needed in this house.

Dinner was a chore that he wasn't usually made to do. Aunt Petunia actually prided herself on cooking elaborate dinners for her dear, darling Dudley. But he'd seen the opportunity to avoid his room's current occupant and, despite Petunia's suspicious glances, had hastily volunteered to help.

Not that he was apparently expected to entertain the man. After getting the necessary conversation out of the way, the professor had ignored Harry for the rest of the afternoon. Silent Snape was better than Snarky Snape, but still…if Harry had a say in the matter, he'd have voted for No Snape.

Of course, Harry's reaction to the picture his professor made in his temporary outfit probably hadn't helped matters. The shirt wasn't so bad, if you didn't count how worn it was. But the trousers were baggy, as Harry had suspected, and they were way too short for the Professor. He had looked so…un-Snapeish. Harry hadn't hidden his snicker, despite Snape's narrowed eyes.

In retrospect, Harry thought with mounting dread, maybe he should have been a mite more careful in upsetting the man. Unless a miracle happened, he'd be sharing sleeping quarters with him for the next two nights. All kinds of sobering thoughts entered his mind of what Snape could to do him in his sleep. Maybe the Potions Master was at this very moment hatching some plan to pay him back for every small infraction over the years.

Now completely filled with dread, he threw himself into having dinner on the table by the time a pale-faced Petunia and a purple-faced Vernon reappeared. Fast on their heels was Dudley, who plunked down at the table and without further ado, shoveled his food as fast as possible so he could get back to his newest video game. Oblivious as usual, he didn't have a clue that anything was amiss with the other three around the table.

Harry felt the tension but couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Vernon and Petunia may be angry with him for potentially bringing wizards into the neighborhood, but as long as they were feeding him and staying a reasonable distance away from him, their hatred was nothing new.

Snape was the one he was worried about at the moment. The Potions Master hated him _and_ was intelligent enough to do more harm than mere physical intimidation or empty threats would accomplish. Unlike the Dursleys, who were more talk than action, he knew from personal experience that Snape, if properly provoked, wouldn't feel obligated to warn before striking.

By the time he was sent back upstairs, he'd imagined dozens of possible ways for Snape to exact revenge tonight, each one more horrid than the last. For the first time in years, Harry wished he could stay downstairs with his aunt and uncle.

Pausing outside his room, he took a deep breath, listened for any movement, and opened the door. The room was dark, but the outline of Snape's motionless form could be seen on the bed.

Not willing to chance that he really had gone straight to bed, Harry pulled a flashlight from his desk drawer and inspected the floor – for what, he wasn't sure. He felt like when he was five years old and one of Dudley's friends had told him stories about a monster that lived in closets. Harry had, of course, slept in a dark cupboard for years by then and was really quite accustomed to it, but the idea had scared him so that for weeks he had nightmares of sharing the darkness with all sorts of terrible creatures. He'd foolishly hoped one time that going to Aunt Petunia would help. He knew he wasn't loved like Dudley was, but he'd seen her soothe her own son from bad dreams, and he was still young enough to believe that things might change…that one day he would wake up and the Dursleys would love him, give him hugs, and maybe even buy him presents.

Aunt Petunia had yelled at him for waking her in the middle of the night and locked him in his cupboard for three days "to help him get over his fears."

Harry mentally shook himself from the memory. No use dwelling on the past, something he found himself doing a lot nowadays, ever since Sirius – NO. He stopped himself from going there. Of all the things he shouldn't think about right then, he topped the list.

He forced his mind back to the inspection of his room, not allowing it to wander past finding anything harmful Snape might have planted for him. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he pulled out a few old shirts from the wardrobe to spread on the floor for a make-shift bed.

Not used to turning in this early, he was nonetheless exhausted by the day's events. Before he could even start to clear his mind, he felt himself drifting into a restful sleep and the precarious world of dreams.

* * *

The sky was clear above the Quidditch pitch, and Harry felt free, basking in the sun in mid-air. He was so relaxed, it took him a moment to remember he was in the middle of a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Players flew in a maddening frenzy below him, and he pulled his broom higher so that they looked like bees furiously flying around their hive. He wondered absently if bees ever had wars like people did.

A cheer rang out from the crowd as Gryffindor scored, and his thoughts shifted back to the game. Harry raised his arm in a silent cheer for his teammates and scanned over the pitch for the tiny, golden snitch. It sometimes took hours to locate the elusive snitch, but this time it took Harry only minutes to see a shimmering dot slightly lower in the sky than he was. He dove straight for it and reached out his hand…

"Potter." Harry stopped in mid-reach. He looked around. No one was there.

"Potter!" Again.

He looked closely at the snitch, which hadn't moved. Like it wanted Harry to catch it. "Hello?" he tentatively asked the flittering object.

"Potter, wake up!" Harry recognized the voice now as Professor Snape's. Why on earth would a snitch be talking to him in Snape's voice?

Harry reached out his hand once more for the snitch. Something unbelievably strong was compelling him to catch it. Something important would happen if he did, he just knew it.

"POTTER!" Harry was practically jolted off his broom. No, wait. The broom was trying to buck him off. He held on for dear life. He had to. He had to catch the snitch!

"Oow!" A sudden burst of pain in his shoulder jolted Harry immediately awake from his dream. Snape was sitting over him, shaking him. He stopped when he saw Harry's eyes open.

Harry let out another yelp, this time in surprise, and scooted back toward the wall. What in Merlin's name was Snape doing hovering over him as he slept? What was he doing here in the first place? Why wasn't he at Hogwarts?

It came back to him, then. He hadn't quite adjusted to being awake, but he remembered with some vagueness the events of the day before.

"Now that you've decided to join the waking," Snape snarled, "You may go to your own room."

"Huh?" Harry's brain was still fuzzy from sleep. What was Snape going on about?

"Your own room, Potter," Snape spoke to him like he was a child, incapable of understanding simple details. "I do not need, nor do I desire, a nursemaid."

With that, he pulled Harry up and shoved him out of the room in one smooth motion. Harry heard the click of the door behind him as he stood in the hall, still muddled from sleep and gently swaying on his feet.

_My own room? Didn't Snape realize –_

Ah.

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel indignant or embarrassed. Of course Snape wouldn't have realized that was Harry's room – he'd never actually told him, had he? And to think – Snape had thought he'd slept on the floor – for what – to keep an eye on him? To keep an eye out _for _him? Harry felt his face flush.

Well, whatever the reason, Harry's embarrassment would be compounded tomorrow if he didn't straighten this out right now. But more importantly, where else was he going to sleep? The Dursleys would have heart attacks if they woke up and found him sleeping in the hallway, or worse, on their freshly cleaned sofas.

Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, Harry took a deep breath, rapped softly on the door, and opened it without waiting for a response. He closed the door quickly behind him – no sense in risking the Dursleys waking up – and took one small step inside.

Murder was written on Snape's face as he sat up on the bed, and Harry gulped. Not out of fear…well, not completely out of fear.

His room had never before felt quite as small as it did right then.

"Do you have a hearing problem, Potter?" It was amazing, Harry thought, how such a quiet growl could seem so loud.

"Erm…no, sir. I…uh…" Putting thoughts together was pretty hard when one was both half asleep _and_ talking to Snape, Harry realized.

"Your eloquence astounds me, as usual." The man rose to tower over Harry. His height alone actually wasn't as threatening as Harry remembered. Harry may be small for his age, but he was now tall enough that he didn't have to tilt his head too incredibly far back to meet his professor's furious eyes. Those black eyes, filled with hatred and violence…those eyes were more threatening than anything else about the man. "Need I detail for you, _Mr._ _Potter_," he spat, "just what I am capable of doing to your miserable existence if you persist in tormenting me?"

"No." Harry's ire was rising, and he clenched his teeth to stop himself from saying something that would put him in an early grave for sure. "I think I get the picture, _sir_."

Snape's eyes flashed fire. "Good. Get out."

Harry braced himself for war, if it came to that. "This is my room. _You _get out."

"I am not laughing, Potter. And I am in no mood for whatever adolescent prank you've concocted. I will have you know I came here to save your miserable existence – a fact which I already sorely regret. Now," he grabbed Harry roughly by the arm, "Get out!"

But his last two words didn't have exactly the intended effect, for as soon as Harry's arm was jerked, he let out a howl of pain. He quickly, firmly, clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep himself from making more noise and forced himself to listen through the pain for the sound of footfalls in the house.

Harry hadn't realized just how stiff yesterday's sore shoulder had gotten after his night on the hard floor. Snape had jarred it earlier, but now… It hurt like hell, and Harry couldn't think of anything save the excruciating jabs of pain running through his shoulder and down his arm. He slumped against the nearest wall, holding his arm tightly against his stomach. He willed himself not to cry. Not in front of Snape.

For a long moment, all that could be heard was Harry's ragged breathing. His eyes were shut tight, even as the pain slightly subsided. Snape hadn't said anything, and Harry wasn't eager to see the man's reaction to his display. No doubt he was deciding on the best comment to make at Harry's expense. Something about _poor delicate Potter_ or his _propensity for attracting trouble,_ at the very least.

Harry finally regained his composure and stood, forcing his arm back to his side, though it still throbbed. His eyes searched for something to focus on other than Snape.

Trying to draw attention from what had just happened, Harry continued the conversation. "I'm not lying." His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. "This is my room. Look, there's Hedwig's cage, see? And my school trunk. And here…" He shuffled over to the desk and used his good arm to pull a small book from the drawer. "Hermione gave me this. It has pictures in it of me and my friends."

Snape hadn't responded, and Harry chanced a swift glance his way. The older man hadn't moved. He was watching Harry with narrowed eyes. Just watching him, nothing else. Or more like studying him, actually…like one might study an insect. Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"So…uh, you see, I can't leave – I don't have another place to sleep. And I don't have any other place where you'll be hidden from my relatives. So…like it or not, we're stuck sharing this room until Hedwig gets back." He tried to sound forceful, and he cringed as his voice came out more pitiful than intended.

Snape finally spoke, but it wasn't to acknowledge Harry's short speech. "Your shoulder is injured," he stated simply. His tone wasn't harsh, but nor was it gentle. He was just stating a fact.

Harry blinked. It wasn't like Snape to point out the obvious.

"It's fine," Harry rasped out after a moment and ducked his head, his facing flushing again. "I'm fine."

"Don't flatter yourself." Snape's biting tone was back, and he finally moved from his spot to step closer to Harry. "I couldn't have the slightest concern for you or what caused this injury. My concern, such as it is, has to do with being berated by the Headmaster for harming his precious golden boy. It would not benefit me to have him reach the assumption that I either injured you or knew about it and did nothing."

Harry stared back at him, embarrassment fading, mouth open, before blurting out, "I find it really hard to believe that would keep you awake at night."

Snape scowled. "I would rather not be kept awake all night by _your antics_, Potter. Take off your shirt."

"What!?" Harry backed up, arms wrapped around his middle. "No! I don't need your help, and I'm sure as hell not letting you prod and probe me!"

"Just do it, Potter! The sooner you comply, the sooner we both can get back to sleep."

Snape made a move for him, which Harry managed to dodge, ducking to the opposite side of the room. Snape tried once more and caught Harry by the back of his shirt, attempting to force it from his back. Harry squirmed, trying to get away from his professor's grasp, and kicked out his legs. One of them connected with something hard, and he heard Snape gasp before Harry was shoved to the floor without warning.

"You don't want my help – so be it! It will be entirely my pleasure to see you suffer!" Snape stalked over to the bed and laid down with his back to Harry, snapping the sheet over his shoulder before lying still.

Harry rubbed his bum where he had clumsily landed. For someone who was supposedly concerned with seeing to his injury, he fumed, Snape certainly didn't seem to mind causing another.

Seething and not about to turn his back to the man, Harry laid back down on his pile of shirts and glared at the Potions Master's back, imagining the use of every harmful and torturous curse about which he'd ever heard.

He hated Snape. That was the one thing in his life he knew with absolute certainty would never change.

Ever.


	4. The Art of Interrogation

**Chapter Four – The Art of Interrogation**

Harry woke with a crick in his neck and, groaning, pulled his hand up to massage his sore muscles. He never thought he'd actually miss his hard, lumpy mattress, but it was a far sight better than the much harder floor.

The events of yesterday and the early morning had played over and over in his dreams, and he felt no better rested than he had several hours ago. A glance at the bed showed Snape still sleeping. _Glad one of us is able to have a decent night's sleep_, he thought bitterly.

The rising sun outside Harry's window gave him cause to get a start on the day. It was Monday, after all, and Vernon would expect his breakfast before he left for work. Best not to give him an excuse to come looking for him in his room... That thought alone propelled him out of his makeshift bed and into the hallway to get cleaned up.

Breakfast passed in a blur for Harry, distracted as he was by the night's events. His hatred for the Potions Master had churned in his heart during the remainder of the night, and now his stomach felt like it was in knots, and there was an awful heaviness in his chest. It was a horrible feeling, one that Harry didn't particularly like.

At some point during his food preparation, the Dursleys had entered the kitchen and were waiting to eat. Harry quickly put the rest of the food on the table and sat down in his usual place. They ignored him, of course, and Petunia was already going on about how proud she was of her "brave darling Dudders." Harry had learned at the beginning of summer that Dudley's school was still concerned about his growing size and had recommended that he be involved in more than one athletic program over the summer. Mondays meant swimming in the morning and boxing in the afternoon. Harry found himself wondering, not for the first time, if Dudley actually did anything on those teams of his. He hadn't grown _too_ much larger in the past year, but he sure hadn't slimmed down, either.

The food didn't hold any appeal for Harry just then, but he did manage to sneak his portions off his plate and into a plastic container he'd swiped from the kitchen drawer. Vernon and Petunia didn't even notice, so focused were they on promising Dudley a new stereo system if he went to swim practice today, his least favorite activity. Harry held in a snicker at the image Dudley would make trying to stay afloat. He'd probably already scared some poor kid into thinking a real, live whale was roaming their swimming pool. That image alone lightened Harry's mood considerably.

Finished and wanting to get a start on the after-meal cleaning, Harry moved to clear his dishes from the table. He was stopped by a hand on his wrist from the opposite side of the table, and an upward glance showed Vernon attached to that arm, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

"Not so fast, boy. We have a thing or two to discuss before I leave for work today." Vernon's voice was mostly calm, an unusual occurrence when talking to Harry. This might have worried Harry under normal circumstances, but today it only caused his already upset stomach to become slightly more unsettled.

Dudley left the table then to get his things for swim practice, and Petunia stood from her chair also, pausing only long enough to issue Vernon a brief warning glance before following her son from the kitchen.

Harry remained perfectly still. He didn't know what to expect, and he sure wasn't going to do anything that might provoke his uncle. Especially not if Petunia was about to leave them alone in the house together. He couldn't bring himself to be completely grateful to his aunt for her recent role in keeping Vernon from dishing out his worst punishments…but he didn't want her to stop, either.

"Now you listen here, boy," Vernon started in what he probably considered his most intimidating voice. Harry couldn't help but notice that compared to his early morning confrontation with Snape, a master in the art of intimidation, Vernon came across sounding more like a sullen bully who hadn't gotten his way. Not totally _un_-intimidating, but still… There were ways to get around mere bullies. Harry should know. He'd grown up with Dudley and his gang.

Vernon continued his lecture to Harry in that same voice. "I don't care what you've fooled Petunia into believing, and I don't for one minute believe your story about more freaks in the neighborhood. I see right through your attempts to avoid your chores, and it is going to stop right now, you hear?" Vernon was starting to lose his calm, working himself into a right frenzy. Half risen out of his chair by now, he had both hands on the table and was leaning forward to better get his point across to Harry.

Harry recognized right away it might be better for him if he could keep his uncle's temper from rising further. There was more at stake here than a few lousy chores, after all. He felt a chill go up his back at the thought of being forced outside by his uncle, only to be captured and killed by Death Eaters.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he forced himself to speak respectfully. "I'm sorry for worrying Aunt Petunia. I'll do my chores." He took a deep breath. It was easier figuring out how to word things just right when talking to his aunt than it was with his uncle. "Only, I was telling Aunt Petunia the truth. Sir." He tacked on that last bit, just in case it helped. "There are...people…out there watching for me. You don't have to worry, they're not after you or anything…" Hmm. That was a thought Harry hadn't considered before. They wouldn't hurt the Dursleys to get to Harry, would they? He pushed that aside for later consideration and rushed on so Vernon wouldn't have time to consider those implications. "But if they see me, I'm pretty sure they'll make a scene." No point in mentioning they most definitely would kill him, too. That would probably make Vernon all the more eager to send him outside.

Vernon didn't look placated. If anything, he looked more angry. "That's enough lies, boy! You listen to me, and you listen well – If I get home and find those weeds have not been pulled, you'll find out just what 'a scene' looks like!" Risen completely from his chair by now, Vernon glared furiously at Harry, clenching and unclenching his fists, but all he did was take one last swig of juice and head for the door.

He took the opportunity to turn back to Harry once more before heading completely out the door. Looking his nephew straight in the eyes, he put his best intimidation voice back on and yelled, "OR ELSE," and stormed away, feet pounding on his way out of the house.

Harry sighed. That was about the extent of what he could do right then, he was so tired. _Well,_ he dryly considered, _might as well invite Voldemort for a cup of tea. Why leave him out? Everybody else who despises my existence is already here. _He dropped his head to the table and sat that way for several endless minutes while he considered his options.

He couldn't go outside, that was for sure. He still didn't know what Voldemort was planning, but he was certain from his vision and the crash that Snape was telling the truth.

Oh, yeah, the crash…

He hadn't had a chance to think about the crash much, but he decided it had to have been a setup to get him away from the house. Although he'd only been half listening to the table conversation last night through his distracted thoughts of Snape, he'd overheard Aunt Petunia saying something about hearing through the neighborhood gossip mill that the car had swerved after its driver was startled by a small animal on the windshield. And there had been no child near the bicycle, which somebody had apparently left in the middle of the street.

But it still puzzled Harry. Why go to all that trouble to stage an accident when Harry was already outside? And he'd been here all summer and they hadn't tried to get to him yet. Why try now? And – Harry thought with a shiver – how long had Voldemort known where he lived? It was no use convincing himself that he didn't – it was obvious that he did. And if Snape knew that Voldemort knew, wouldn't the Order? Where were they? Weren't they guarding the house like they were last summer?

And what was The Plan that had Voldemort feeling so triumphant? Most important of all, how did it involve Harry?

Harry felt like his head would explode with questions if he didn't get some answers, and soon. Unfortunately, he had only one source of information…and he wasn't too eager to tap into that source.

Weighing his options, however, there really was little contest. He hated the idea of being in the dreadful man's presence, but he hated being kept in the dark even more. And he hadn't forgotten his first Occlumency lesson with Snape last year. There had never been any love lost between them, but he still remembered that Snape had been the one to finally give him some amount of information when no one else had.

Hoping that a food offering would help loosen Snape's lips, he brought a glass of water and the container of food back to his room. Cleaning up could wait. They'd left him "alone" in the house again, and Petunia and Dudley wouldn't be back from swim practice for a couple hours anyway.

When he opened his door he stopped short at the sight of a very awake Snape thoroughly examining Harry's room. The wardrobe door was wide open, both desk drawers were ajar, and even the mattress on the bed had been turned upside down.

Upon noticing Harry's entrance into the room, Snape ceased his inspection of the window and, crossing his arms, stood up straight with a look of determination upon his face. Harry didn't even have a chance to ask what was going on before Snape sharply demanded, "What is this, Potter? What are you trying to prove?"

Harry stood in the doorway, food and water still held in his hands, thoroughly puzzled. "Er…Sir? I don't understand – "

"This, Potter!" Snape gestured all around them. "The room, the bars on the window – the locks! There is an entire line of locks on the door of this room, all latching from the outside, and a smaller door within the door, the purpose of which I can only deduce is for the passage of food!" Snape paced the floor, not looking at Harry any longer, eyes roaming over the entire contents of the room. "There is no need to explain the padlocked trunk. You never do your summer homework up to par, so it really is no surprise that you would lock your books away from sight while you idle away your summer. Or is there something other than books in that trunk? What are you trying to hide, Potter?" He stopped his pacing to give Harry a piercing stare.

"N-nothing!" Harry was taken aback. He'd been so focused on getting back to his room to question Snape that he hadn't expected an interrogation going the other way. And he supposed after everything else on his mind and nearly 24 hours of having Snape holed away in his room, he'd almost forgotten his worry over the man's perception of the bare room.

Finding no more response forthcoming from a speechless Harry, Snape continued his tirade. "And the wardrobe!" He reached in, grabbing a handful of clothes and throwing them at Harry's feet. "Not a decent pair of clothing amongst these rags – if that is even a proper description for these…things." Snape's face had twisted into a disgusted grimace, as he held one of Dudley's old trousers far away from him before throwing it atop the pile of clothes on the floor.

He stalked over to Harry then, and towered over him just as he had the night before. "Out with it, Potter! NOW! What do you hope to gain by passing this prison cell off as your bedroom?"

"I…" Harry didn't know what to say, so he stuck with the truth. "This is my bedroom. I'm not making anything up, I swear."

"And while we're at it, might I remind you that, summer or no, I am still your professor. You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Professor' at all times. Is that understood?"

"Yes…sir." Harry set his lips in a thin line.

"Good." Snape's eyes said he felt anything but truly satisfied. "Now tell me the truth, Potter!"

"I _am_ telling you the truth. _Sir_." Harry exploded, "I live here. This is my room. _My_ room! It's not much, but it's mine, and thanks a whole heaping lot for messing it all up for me to have to clean! It's really –"

"Respect, Potter!" Snape interrupted, infuriated. "I expect for you to speak to me with respect, even when lying through your teeth!"

"Sorry. Thanks a whole heaping lot for messing up my room, _Sir_."

The two glared at each other across the small space. Harry knew Snape wasn't going to back down, but he wasn't about to let the greasy git win, either. The battle of wills turned into a battle of glares, and Harry gained a new appreciation of the old muggle saying, 'if looks could kill…' He'd bet anything Snape's glare had killed someone during his lifetime – probably some poor Hufflepuff first year.

Snape finally broke the charged silence with a low, angry hiss. "I do not appreciate being lied to, Potter. You will tell me the truth…now." His quiet, menacing words were more frightening than any yell would have been.

Harry disliked a great many things, but being called a liar when he was telling the truth was one of the worst. He matched Snape's quiet tone, though his lack of practice didn't render him quite as intimidating. "I've already told you the truth, Professor. My Aunt and Uncle put me in this room because they hate my guts, just like you do. _They_ put the bars on the window. _They_ put the locks on the door. And _they_ padlocked my trunk so I wouldn't be able to touch any of my magical things while under their roof! Those are my clothes, too – my cousin's castoffs because I'm not important enough to them to buy new clothes for! Don't you get it! I'm not the spoiled, pampered prince you think I am! I'm just Harry – the burden my relatives never wanted!" He ended his tirade yelling at his professor.

But Snape simply threw up his hands. "You're delirious, Potter. I have no patience for these games or your pathetic teenage angst. If you insist on living like a pauper in your own self-pitying make-believe world, by all means, continue. You'll get no sympathy from me."

He noticed the food and water Harry still held. "I presume these are my rations?" Snape snatched both from a still-fuming Harry, sloshing water out of the glass in the process. "My sincerest gratitude," he sneered most insincerely, and sat down at the desk to eat, his rigid back to Harry.

Well, it was just fine with Harry if Snape was done talking. Harry had had quite enough, thank you very much. His quest for answers forgotten, he left the room with the intent of getting as far away from Snape as possible…again.

…

It was amazing, Harry reflected several hours later, how something as mundane as cleaning could calm one's nerves. He'd been on edge for so long that it was kind of nice to pore his nervous energy into washing, dusting, and polishing. Upon discovering that it actually made him feel better, he had attacked his chores with vigor, and already those that didn't require him to step foot outside were just about done.

He took a break to peer out the window for any suspicious activity. He hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary on the other half dozen occasions he'd looked, but that didn't stop him from looking again.

The scene outside was so incredibly…ordinary. The sun was bright in the sky, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees, making it the perfect day for several of the neighbor children to play outside. Harry could see nothing menacing about the calm, happy scene – no Death Eaters lurking in the shadows, no enemies ready to pounce.

He had returned to cleaning by the time he heard the sound of Aunt Petunia's car pulling up to the house, followed soon after by the bang of the open front door. Glancing up, he saw Dudley pound up the stairs with a rather large package in his arms. Probably the new stereo his parents had promised him over breakfast.

Harry continued working, knowing that his aunt liked him better when she could see him accomplishing something. Well, she didn't like him better, really. If anything, it was maybe that she disliked him a little bit less.

By the time Petunia made it through the door with a bag of groceries in hand, Harry had finished the living room. She stood for a moment, looking at him, before moving toward the kitchen. "Come. Help me put the groceries away."

Aunt Petunia wasn't talkative, but she kept sneaking glances at Harry as they worked in the kitchen. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she still worried about there being wizards in the neighborhood? Or – Harry felt mounting dread – did she know something about Snape being here? Maybe she heard them last night. They had been pretty loud, come to think of it. He guessed the only reason the Dursleys either hadn't heard him or hadn't bothered was because they were used to his occasional nightmare. Vernon used to bang on his door every night he made a peep, but Harry supposed that once it started happening more and more often, the Dursleys learned to tune it out. That, or maybe Vernon finally realized that threatening Harry wasn't doing any good.

Now he was worried. What if Petunia, the slightly less confrontational of the two, had heard them? She was also more observant than her husband – which wasn't saying much, come to think of it – so if she heard, might she have realized there were two voices? Well, he sure couldn't ask her. Whether she had or hadn't heard, she obviously hadn't said anything to Vernon. He'd have stormed right in there and demanded Snape out of his house. Harry wasn't sure if the picture of Uncle Vernon trying to intimidate Snape with his "or else" bit was funny or frightening.

"You're done here, boy." Petunia'sneutral voice cut into his thoughts, startling him. "Go on to your room until dinner. I don't need you underfoot all afternoon." That said, she turned back to the pan she had taken out and began cutting ingredients for what looked to be the beginnings of a stew.

Harry's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten much at breakfast, and the sudden reminder of food made him realize just how much of an appetite he had worked up from cleaning all morning long.

"Er…Aunt Petunia?" He chanced cautiously.

She turned her head, eyes just the slightest bit narrowed.

Harry cleared his throat. "It's almost noon. I was wondering if I might have a bit to eat."

She only paused a moment before removing a jar from the pantry door. "Here. Now go."

Harry examined his prize on his way up the stairs. It was a small jar of canned peaches. Not bad, but he doubted it would satisfy his hunger for long, either. He hoped Snape had enough in his stomach to last until after dinner, because he really, really didn't want to have to share.

Snape was sitting up on the bed, deep in thought, when Harry reentered the room. The man didn't look up or otherwise acknowledge him, which was just fine with Harry.

The room was still in disarray. Snape hadn't made a move to clean up any of the mess he had made earlier, and Harry figured based on what he knew about the rigidly organized and structured Potions Master, he'd probably left it that way just to spite Harry.

Settling down on the pile of shirts that had been his bed the night before, Harry got to work opening the jar of peaches. It took some doing, as it was sealed tight, but he finally unscrewed the lid and deeply breathed in the scent of peaches. He grinned in anticipation. Lacking any utensils, he picked out one slippery wedge with his fingers and popped it into his mouth, savoring every bite.

He continued this way for several minutes before he noticed Snape watching him with what could only be described as disgust. Harry looked down at himself. He hadn't spilled anything. What was Snape's problem? He wiped his sticky hand on a shirt nearby, and Snape simultaneously grimaced.

So that was it. The devil inside Harry grinned. He stuck his fingers back in the jar, careful to get as much of the peach juice on his hand as possible, and slurped a wedge into his mouth. Making sure to slop it around a bit and open his mouth wide a few times between chews, he wiped his hand back on the shirt, then on his own for good measure.

Snape's disgusted features had morphed into something akin to nausea.

Harry was fully enjoying himself by the time he finished his last bite and slurp, though Snape had looked away by then. No matter. He knew Snape could still hear him. Harry smacked his lips, loudly, one last time before setting aside the empty jar and settling in for what was sure to be one long afternoon.


	5. The Walls Have Ears

**Chapter Five – The Walls Have Ears**

Harry was bored. He was totally, utterly, completely bored. Altogether, entirely, perfectly, thoroughly bored. Fully, wholly, exhaustively… He was running out of words to describe how bored he was, but at least the thinking of those words had taken a few more minutes out of his boring afternoon.

Sighing, he turned over onto his stomach and watched the only moving thing in the room – Snape. The man was sitting on Harry's bed, where he had been during most of the afternoon, not once saying a single word to Harry. Snape had only moved once, and that had been to grab Harry's one muggle pen from his desk and some parchment from a small stack Harry kept in the back of one of the desk drawers. He was now scribbling something on one of the parchments, several full sheets stacked face down on the bed beside him. Every now and then he would stop, concentration etched into his face, before starting up again with furious scribbles.

Through his boredom, Harry noted that the sound of Snape's scribbles clashed with the beat of music coming through the walls from Dudley's room.

Sighing again, he turned back over to study the ceiling. Usually when he was stuck in his room for hours, he would occupy himself with writing letters to his friends or practicing his spells – without a wand, of course – or looking at his parents' album or his book about Quidditch teams throughout history. But Snape was already using the pen and parchment, which ruled out letters. There was no way he was going to get up and prance around practicing spells like an idiot with Snape watching him. And maybe it wouldn't matter since the professor should be gone tomorrow, but he didn't want Snape to know about his hiding place under the floorboards. It was his own secret place. Some of the things he kept in that hiding place were simply too personal to take out with his most hated professor there.

Sighing once more, Harry turned back over onto his stomach. And sighed again.

Letting out his own sigh of pure exasperation, Snape broke the silence. "If you're so bored, you could try to come up with something productive to do. Homework, perhaps?" He shot a pointed look at Harry. "If your summer months are always this…entertaining, I wonder that your homework never shows more than ten minutes of actual attention."

Ignoring the barb, Harry turned over onto his back and sighed again. After a moment, he heard Snape's scribbling resume.

He had actually reached the point of boredom about an hour ago, after he'd finally given in to the only thing around to keep him occupied – cleaning the room. He had righted the few items on and in his desk, even straightening his chair and Hedwig's cage, and thrown the clothes he wasn't using to sit on back into the wardrobe. He didn't bother folding them neatly, other than the couple items Ron had passed on to him.

But he had finished the task of straightening his room nearly an hour ago, and even trying to come up with ways to irritate Snape without outright getting himself killed had gotten old.

If only he could go outside. There was a park nearby, and he really, really wanted to sit outside with the sunshine on his face. But no, Voldemort had to take away the freedom of the outside world, the Dursleys had to make the house uninviting, and Snape had to fill his bedroom with his dark presence.

Wasn't life just great.

His thoughts turned back to the reason he wasn't allowed outside. Voldemort's Plan. Rolling yet again over to his stomach, Harry set his eyes back on Snape. The information he wanted to know lay inside that black, greasy head. But how to extract it? Maybe if he were a Legilimens, he wouldn't have to ever talk to the git again. But Snape was also an expert Occlumens, so never mind about that fantasy.

Best stick with the direct approach, then.

"Professor?" He couldn't quite bring himself to speak with respect, but he thought he'd done a fairly decent job of at least keeping his voice even. Snape paused in his writing, but he immediately continued with no other acknowledgement that he had heard Harry speak.

"Professor?" Harry tried again, finding it slightly harder this time to maintain an even tone. "Prof–"

"I hear you, Potter! Or have you not noticed that we are the only two people in the vicinity?"

Harry managed to hold back a glare. Getting his questions answered depended entirely on Snape's willingness to answer them. "You warned me yesterday to stay inside, sir. That the house was being watched…" Harry looked at Snape, expectant for more information.

After a moment, the professor spoke. "That is correct, Potter. I am thrilled to know that you do occasionally listen to the spoken word." He looked back down at the parchment in his lap and poised his pen to continue to write.

Not about to be deterred, and determined not to get his hackles up, Harry persisted. "What does that mean, sir? Who is watching the house? Death Eaters? What do they want with me this time? And why now? And – "

"Potter!" Snape tossed his parchment to the side, and Harry halted his tirade of questions. Snape didn't bother to stop a glare of his own, but at least now he acknowledged Harry's purpose. "We are at war. Yes, Death Eaters are watching the house. They want what they have always wanted – to eliminate any threat you represent and thus come that much closer to winning the war. Why now? Now is as good a time as any, I'd say. There. Go back to...doing something other than interrogating me!"

No way was Harry about to be put off after getting his attention so far. "They want to capture me? Or kill me? Capture me, then kill me later? Just because I'm me? Or does Vold –" Harry switched his verbiage upon Snape's murderous look, "Does _he_ want something else with me? Does he have some kind of…er…plan?"

Snape's eyes narrowed so that Harry could barely tell they were still open and leaned forward, thunder in his quiet voice. "What do you know about any 'plan,' Potter?"

"Er, nothing. Sir." Something stopped Harry from telling Snape about his vision, though he wasn't sure why it would really matter. Snape already knew everything Harry had seen, after all, right? Just the same, he averted his eyes in case Snape tried to use Legilimency on him. "It's just that…every other time he's been after me, it was because of some plan. First year, he wanted the stone, second year it was the whole thing with the diary, fourth year he was after my blood, and fifth year so I'd find the –" Harry left off here, not sure how much Snape actually knew about the prophecy. He wasn't going to be the one to fill him in if he didn't already know.

"Well," Harry continued, his eyes still averted from Snape's, "You know – he's always got some plan. I guess I'd just like to know if he's finally decided to kill me straight off, or if there's some other reason he's after me this time." He chanced a look up, then, still careful to keep his voice even. "Do you know? Sir?"

Surprisingly, Snape didn't appear to be angry. He had a calculating look on his face, as if he was sizing Harry up for…well, Harry wasn't sure what for.

He waited a few long moments for Snape to say something. He didn't dare breathe too loudly, for fear the older wizard would decide not to answer his questions. Snape finally began to speak, almost like he would if he were teaching a lecture in Potions class.

"The Dark Lord has returned to power, Potter; he has regained his strength, and then some. He is no fool. He recognizes that if he is going to best you, he will have the most likelihood of succeeding while he is at full power and you are still, for all intents and purposes, a child."

Harry's lips twitched in indignation at that term – he was one day shy of 16, after all – but he quickly schooled his features, willing Snape to continue. He was completely glued to his professor's words, eager to learn as much as possible about anything having to do with Voldemort and the war.

"As to your question regarding…plans…" Snape paused before continuing, now in full professor mode. "The Dark Lord is a master of plots and plans, Potter. He may be fully focused on his end goals of blood purity and personal power, but never fool yourself into thinking that he intends to reach those goals in a single giant step. Everything he does is in some way a preparation for reaching his ultimate goal of dominance and could have long term ramifications for the methods with which we choose to fight him." He looked back at an eagerly listening Harry and frowned, as if suddenly remembering who he was speaking with. He rushed on. "Hence, when you ask what plan is involved in his renewed efforts to capture you, even a brain as miniscule as yours must have a measure of understanding that the answer is quite simply _not_ that simple."

"Ok, alright, I get that. Sir." Harry was eager for more. "But how about his immediate plan? Say he captures me, what then? Does he just want to kill me right away to get me out of the way? Sir?"

But the informative Snape of a few moments ago had gone, leaving behind the increasingly irritating man Harry was used to dealing with. "Enough, Potter. If you want to question someone, question the headmaster. I have already told you what you need to know – don't get captured by the Dark Lord!"

"But –"

"No!" Snape exploded, eager to get rid of Harry's questions once and for all. "No, of course he does not want to simply kill you! Why should he, when he has found a much greater use for you alive? If you allow yourself to be captured this time, it could very well mean the end of any possible recourse against him. And before you ask me why, allow me to tell you that I _will not_ tell you! Bother someone else with your questions and juvenile concerns. No more, Potter!"

"But – "

Snape was upon him before Harry could process that he had moved. The professor had him by the collar of his shirt, and their faces were now inches apart. He felt Snape's breath on his face, as he whispered in the most dangerous tone Harry had ever heard him use, "No. More."

Snape released him, then, and Harry righted himself before he lost his balance. Snape resituated himself on the bed, his black curtain of hair hiding his face from Harry's view.

Harry lay back down to consider what he had learned. Boredom not an issue now that he had Snape's words to consider, he lost himself in his thoughts. The silence of the room was broken only by Snape's furious scratching of pen to parchment and the sound of music still drifting through the walls from Dudley's stereo.

….

The last hours of the afternoon passed much as the first few had, except that Snape had filled every piece of parchment he could find in the room and now looked as completely bored as Harry had felt earlier. The usually active man had paced the room for quite a while before sitting back on the bed, only to get immediately back up to stand near the window. Whatever he found to amuse himself outside didn't appease him for long, for he soon went back to sit on the bed. Finally he lay down, presumably to try to sleep.

Harry liked it better when Snape was staying in one place. This constant motion back and forth around the room was making him jumpy.

He supposed he could go downstairs for a while – he had already heard Aunt Petunia leaving with Dudley for his afternoon boxing practice. Vernon could be home at any time, though, and with how upset he had been already before leaving for work, and the fact that Harry hadn't minded him about the weeds, he didn't think he should upset him any further by being caught roaming around the house in their absence.

Just then, as though his thoughts had made it reality, he heard the sound of a car pulling up, followed by a car door opening and slamming closed. Uncle Vernon. Had to be – Petunia and Dudley wouldn't be home for another hour, at least.

Harry listened to the sounds his uncle's footsteps made on the walkway in front of the house, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Vernon's heavy steps faded somewhat: they had gone in the direction of the kitchen. Another minute passed before Harry heard footfalls on the stairs. He tensed up as they came closer to the second floor and his own room. His every sense was attuned to Uncle Vernon's movements. He hadn't called for him; that must be a good sign. Maybe he hadn't noticed that Harry hadn't followed his orders from the morning? Maybe he would keep on walking…

"BOY!" Two hard raps on the door startled Harry into a sitting position, and with a glance at his bed, he saw that Snape was likewise sitting up in bed, having been jolted by the unexpected interruption to his too-brief nap. His eyes were trained on the door in annoyance.

Harry scrambled up and over to the door, motioning for Snape to stay hidden. Snape, despite still being visibly annoyed, lay back down, arranging the sheet around himself and his clothing in such a way that to a very casual observer, the bed might just look incredibly messy. Harry was grateful that he hadn't had to explain himself to get Snape to cooperate – the professor probably just didn't want to have to deal with muggles as long as he was stuck here. Especially muggles related to Harry Potter. Whatever the reason, he had complied, and that's all that mattered right then

Harry sucked in a breath and pulled open the door with the intent of getting out into the hallway before Uncle Vernon had a chance to come in. Before he could get so far as to inch out, he was yanked by the arm – thankfully, by his good arm, so he only let out a startled gasp – and pulled out into the hall to face a very red-faced Uncle Vernon. Despite his surprise, Harry tried reaching out to close his bedroom door completely behind him where it stood ajar, but Vernon yanked him back to face him with even more force.

Ooh, Vernon was angry. So angry, in fact, that he didn't seem able to form words. His face was already purple, and Harry didn't see how it could get any more so. And yet it was growing more alarmingly purple by the second.

Harry figured he'd better say something, fast, before his uncle literally exploded and he got blamed for it. "Um, Uncle Vernon, about the weeds. I–"

The sound of Harry's voice apparently helped Vernon regain his steam, for he interrupted right away. "You ungrateful…" Vernon took a deep breath and then roared into Harry's face, "FREAK!"

He released Harry and shoved him away, but his bulk still blocked the stairs. "I warned you, boy, didn't I? Didn't I warn you? I said 'pick those weeds,' plain as day, and I even gave you a second chance for Petunia's sake! 'Don't hurt the boy,' she says, like those freaks you associate with might find out. Well, I know what's what, boy – I know what you're doing. Putting off chores, you are, plain and simple!"

Harry listened to Vernon's tirade, trying unsuccessfully several times to cut him off. As much as he didn't want to be punished with more chores or no food, his every thought was focused on the knowledge that they were still next to Harry's open door and there was no way that Snape couldn't hear everything that transpired. Vernon hadn't said anything near as awful as he could so far, and Harry preferred to keep it that way – no matter what dignity he may lose with his uncle.

He tried again as soon as he saw his uncle pause to draw a long breath. "Uncle Vernon, I know I didn't do the weeds, and I'm really sorry. Really, I am. I'll make it up by doing anything else in the house you want. I could help Aunt Petunia with dinner again tonight," he offered hopefully.

"Oh, no you don't, boy. You're not getting out of it that easy," Vernon growled, a big heavy growl like a bear before mealtime, "You're going right back down there to finish the weeding, and when you're done with that, you can cut the grass! And when you're finished with that, you can trim the hedges and water the plants! I don't care if it takes you until tomorrow morning, you'll do it!" With that, Uncle Vernon grabbed him again, this time by his sore arm, and Harry couldn't help letting out a yelp as Uncle Vernon dragged him toward the stairs. He struggled despite the pain, needing to be let go, and escaping his uncle's grasp, stumbled to the floor.

He jumped to his feet right away, inching back from his uncle's threatening stance. "I swear I wasn't making up why I can't, Uncle Vernon! I seriously can't go outside – it's too dangerous!"

"Dangerous! _Dangerous_!" Uncle Vernon was shouting now. "You useless boy – just like your useless father, you are! Never did anything worth anything his whole life, and then up and got himself killed. Probably did it just to get away from you, too, so we'd get stuck with the likes of you! I can't count how many times I should have up and tossed you out on the streets – but Petunia would have none of it. Well, she's not here now, boy; she's not here to make sure I don't do something your kind wouldn't approve of. Well, I'm not scared of you or your stick waving or your freaky eyed friend! Right now it's you and me – and you're going outside right now!"

"Uncle Vernon, please…" Harry hated that it came out sounding like he was begging, but he'd already found out arguing wouldn't work. He just needed to get his uncle to stop his ranting and let him be. He was starting to feel sick in his stomach, not knowing what else might come tumbling out of Vernon's mouth.

"Look, I can owl my headmaster – he'll explain things to you. He'll tell you all about the dark wizards and how I –"

He didn't bother finishing his sentence, for with one look at Uncle Vernon's face, he knew he'd crossed the line with mentioning anything having to do with the wizarding world. Vernon's face was that horrible purple color again, and all he could vocalize were a few sputtered words. "Why you…how dare…in my house!"

Harry barely had time to process Uncle Vernon's raised hand before his head was thrown back by a sudden, hard slap. The force of the surprise blow knocked him off balance, and he stumbled onto the floor, where he sat, sprawled out, completely dazed. He didn't even register the pain, so shocked was he at being hit. Uncle Vernon hated him, sure, but he'd never _hit_ him before. Well, not like _that_, anyway, he thought, recollecting the occasional slaps Vernon had dished out before Harry had started at Hogwarts.

A glance up showed Vernon looking wildly around, as if afraid that wizards would suddenly come out of the woodwork. He actually looked a little worried. When nothing happened, he grabbed for Harry, who was still too shocked to fight, and dragged him to his feet and toward his bedroom door.

"You don't want to do your chores, fine! Seeing how you're not good for anything else, you can just sit up here and rot for all I care! And you can do without food, too, until you come to your senses. Maybe…" Vernon hissed at Harry, pulling him back around so that they were nose to nose, "Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll starve to death!"

Vernon shoved him back into his room, slamming the door immediately behind him. Harry turned on his feet, dumbly watching the door as the sound of lock after lock reached his ears. Vernon, having turned the last lock, stomped his way to his own bedroom and slammed the door in his continuing fit of rage. Harry involuntarily jumped.

His face was stinging now. Touching his fingers to his lips, he winced, and a glance at his hand confirmed that the coppery taste inside his mouth was blood. There wasn't very much, really, but the cut on the inside of his lip still hurt something awful. He ran his tongue over his lips and moved his jaw around a bit, concluding that nothing else seemed hurt. He turned back to his bed.

And came face to face with Snape.

_Oh, Merlin._ He'd been so shocked by Uncle Vernon's fit of rage, he'd forgotten all about the man who had been the forefront in his mind only moments ago. His stomach dropped, and he could feel his face growing hot with humiliation.

He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just stared.

Snape stared right back, his features carefully controlled and unreadable, before jumping suddenly to his feet, which startled Harry into stepping back toward the wall. But Snape simply walked to the window, and when he got there, he turned around and walked back. He looked at Harry, at his cheek, and repeated his pacing.

Harry wished he could sink through the floor. Or, if that wasn't an option, he at least wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find out this was all a dream. Professor Snape had _not_ just heard what Harry knew he'd just heard…

Snape stopped his pacing then, right in front of Harry. "You weren't lying," he finally stated, his eyes calculating despite being tinged with something else…realization? Or was it surprise? "About any of it. Were you, Potter?" Those eyes trained on Harry, waiting for a response.

Harry hadn't come any closer to being able to form words. He really didn't want to be here. He wanted to get away – away from the Dursleys, away from Snape and his questions. He couldn't take it, he had to get away.

But he was locked in. With Snape. There was nowhere to run.

He was locked in! And Snape, of all people, had to witness the humiliation he suffered daily from his relatives, and it had to be the time Vernon decided to be especially nasty. If he knew Snape, it would be all over Slytherin by the first day of classes. And all over the entire school by the second. The damage was already done, and nothing Harry could say would change that.

Harry shoved at his professor in his rush to get out from under his assessing gaze. If he could only get away from Snape, he could sit on his pile of shirts and wait for Hedwig to arrive so he could get Snape the hell out of here. But the larger man wouldn't budge. He blocked Harry, maneuvering so that the frazzled teen was trapped into the corner near his door. Harry swallowed against a feeling of rising panic. He'd faced Voldemort, he reminded himself. He could face inquiry by his own professor. Somehow, that didn't help very much, he thought as he looked back up into Snape's determined eyes.

"Answer me, Potter," Snape demanded. "What is going on here? Is this normal treatment by your uncle? Does Dumbledore know about this?"

Despite Snape's rapid fire questions, Harry couldn't tell what was behind them. Surely Snape wasn't concerned about Harry; he couldn't detect anything that seemed like concern in the man's expression. It seemed more to Harry like he was about to figure out a puzzle. Or that he'd come across a new puzzle that needed to be solved. Well, Harry hardly wanted to become Severus Snape's new 'puzzle' to solve.

That sudden rise of indignation helped him to find his voice. "Thank you for your concern, Professor," he grated out. "But seeing as how you're not my head of house or school or anything, I think I'll pour my heart out to somebody else." It actually came out a little harsher than he'd planned…but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He was feeling a desperate need to get out of that corner.

To Snape's credit, he didn't raise his voice. Nor did he insert any venom into his steady speech. "I am your professor, Potter. Head of house or no, what is going on in my student's home _is_ of my _concern_."

Harry gaped before he realized it hurt his lip and promptly closed his mouth. Since when would _Snape_ be _concerned about his home life_? It was so laughable, only Harry didn't feel like laughing. He knew Snape didn't actually care, of course. And he wasn't about to give up any more information for the whole Slytherin house to gossip about.

"Thank you, sir, for your little display. I'll make sure to mention it to the headmaster so he can be properly grateful. But like I said, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather bother someone else with my juvenile concerns." He threw Snape's words of the earlier afternoon back in his face and shut his mouth in a firm line.

Snape's face remained unreadable, though he nearly imperceptibly narrowed his eyes. Then, surprisingly, he stepped back, allowing Harry freedom from his corner, and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed.

He sat there only a moment before switching topics so suddenly that Harry felt slightly disoriented. "You want to know about the Dark Lord's plan concerning you," he stated, in a rhetorical question sort of way, though he waited for a response.

He looked at Snape suspiciously, answering with a hesitant, "Yes…"

The Potions Master sat on the bed calmly, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. "Might I suggest an exchange of information? I will tell you what you desire to know, and in exchange you will answer my questions. A question of yours for a question of mine, let's say."

Harry considered, taken aback. He wanted to know what Voldemort was up to. Badly. But Snape was the last person on earth he wanted to tell his family secrets to.

On the other hand, between the room, Harry's earlier outburst, and what Snape had just overheard, he didn't have much more to hide, did he?

"Alright," he accepted, despite his increasing trepidation. His curiosity was too great to let him pass up this opportunity to acquire the information he craved. "It's a deal."

Harry couldn't read the gleam in Snape's eyes and hoped to Merlin he hadn't just made a horrible, awful mistake.


	6. Voldemort's Plan

**Chapter Six – Voldemort's Plan**

Snape crossed his legs and motioned for Harry to sit. The hospitable gesture struck Harry as way too odd, considering this was Harry's own room.

Nevertheless, he sat, though not in the desk chair Snape had indicated. He'd rather sit on his semi-comfortable pile of shirts on the floor. Maybe it would feel less like a formal interrogation if he wasn't sitting directly across from Snape in an actual chair.

His fingers found a loose thread from a shirt in the pile as he leaned up against the wall, and he gratefully fiddled with it while he waited for Snape to begin. He wasn't exactly sure how this was supposed to work. Had he made a mistake agreeing to this? Now that he had committed himself, would Snape let him not answer a question if he didn't want to? The man couldn't know all the right questions to ask anyway, right? _Harry _didn't even know what would be the "right" questions for Snape to ask.

Snape looked cool, calm, and collected – the direct opposite of what Harry felt like at that moment. Even so, Harry didn't have the slightest guess what the man was thinking. It was like he had slipped into spy mode or something…like he was carefully controlling what he allowed others – Harry, in this case – to see.

Clearing his throat, Snape explained the rules of the game. "I will ask you a question, Potter. You will answer it thoroughly and to my complete satisfaction. Then you may do the asking. If I am not convinced that you have answered my question truthfully or completely, I will in no way answer yours. Are we clear?"

Harry didn't speak, just nodded. He twisted the thread around the tip of his finger.

Snape leaned back a bit, settling in for the uncertain length of the conversation. "First question, Potter. Where is your wand?"

Harry had braced himself for the inevitable questions about Uncle Vernon or another inquiry about his bare room, and at this unexpected first question, he drew his brows together in perplexity. His wand? Snape had passed up on the obvious to ask about Harry's wand?

Alright then, Harry could do with an easy question to start. "It's in my trunk." He gestured toward the padlocked item and sat up straight to ask his own question.

"Not so fast, Potter," Snape held up his hand. "I said a complete answer, did I not? Explain what your wand is doing locked in your trunk."

Harry felt a wave of…well, Slytherin…roll over him. "That wasn't part of your question, sir. I thought it was one question each," he dodged.

He felt certain Snape was going to fight him on that, but for some reason, the Potions Master conceded. "Very well. Continue," he invited, waving his hand in a falsely gracious motion.

Harry felt smug. He had just out-Slytherined the Slytherin! Maybe he would enjoy this a bit after all. Not about to let Snape get to steaming or something that might end their arrangement, he rushed on to ask the question he had been dying to know since he'd gotten to thinking about his vision yesterday. "What is Voldemort's Plan?" He leaned forward, eager to hear Snape's response.

"The _Dark Lord_, Potter!" Snape hissed. "Ask it again, correctly, this time."

Sheesh. "What is the Dark Lord's Plan?" he asked again. Fine, he would play this game – as long as it gave him answers.

"World dominance. Explain what your wand is doing locked in your trunk."

"Wait! You didn't answer my question!" Harry was indignant.

Snape simply shrugged. "The Dark Lord's plan is to ultimately achieve world dominance, Potter. If you wanted a different answer, I suggest you ask a more specific question next time. Now. Explain."

Harry was even more incensed now. "You haven't asked a _question_ yet, _sir_."

Snape's exasperation was starting to show. He brought his fingers up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Potter!" he snapped and then, with a deep breath, started again, more calmly than he obviously felt. "I can see my previous explanation of this process was not adequate. Allow me to begin again." He lowered his hand. "I will ask you a question. It may come in the form of a question _or_ in the form of a statement. I trust you will be able to tell when a response is expected." Harry had the feeling that if Snape were inclined to eye rolling, he would have right then. As it was, he merely continued, his words slightly more enunciated than normal. "I will ask a question and demand explanation until I am satisfied that my _topic_ has been reasonably covered. Allow me that courtesy, and you may do the same. However, do the simple service to both of us of starting your questioning with an inquiry that does not require a full month to adequately answer!"

"Okay, alright," Harry huffed. "Sounds fair," he then conceded more civilly, back to studying his thread.

"Good. Now. Why is your wand in your trunk?" Snape deliberately arranged his query in the form of a question, an edge of sarcasm to his tone.

"It –" Harry stopped suddenly at a faint thump down the hall and waved at Snape to keep quiet. He watched the door, listening intently for any sign that Uncle Vernon was on his way back. He heard another thump, followed by the slam of Vernon's bedroom door and his heavy footfalls back down the stairs. At the sound of the car starting up, Harry popped up and over to the window in time to see Vernon's car leaving the driveway. He had no idea where he could be headed, but just knowing that he was gone for a little while longer gave Harry a feeling of relief.

He padded back over to his seat on the floor. What was the question? Oh yeah, the wand. He raised his head to answer the question, only Snape was just looking at him with another one of his inscrutable expressions. Harry decided to ignore it.

"Dudley and I aren't exactly the best of friends," he began. "Oh, Dudley's my cousin," he explained, not sure if Snape actually knew that. "Anyway, we were in the kitchen a couple days ago and he said something I didn't like. So I…sort of pulled out my wand and threatened to turn his hair into feathers if he didn't take it back." He sneaked a glance at his professor. "I wouldn't have done it though! I mean, I know about the underage restriction. I'm not stupid enough to chance getting expelled over something like _that_."

Nothing in Snape's face indicated that he was going to harp on it, so Harry continued. "So, erm, Uncle Vernon sort of walked in and saw me with the wand, so he took it away and locked it in my trunk. I think he was afraid I might actually curse Dudley," Harry explained, even while wondering why in the world he was defending Vernon to Snape.

He sat straighter. "Am I done?"

"Nearly," was Snape's response. "What did your cousin say to prompt your reaction?"

Harry fixed his eyes on his thread, winding it around a different finger. "He was just ragging on me."

Snape waited for more, to which Harry sighed. Snape had better be this forthcoming with his questions, Harry silently groused. "I talk in my sleep sometimes. Loudly. Dudley's heard me before, other summers. This time was about Sirius." he admitted.

"Very well, Potter. Your turn."

Finally! Harry leaned forward. "What does Vol – I mean, the Dark Lord – want with me?"

Snape gave him an exasperated glare, to which Harry threw up his arms. "I don't know enough to _get_ more specific than that! Just give me something to go on, okay?"

He watched as Snape considered how best to answer him. "He wants you for your blood," he finally stated.

That was not what Harry had expected Snape to say. His blood? What did that even mean? "You mean…er, do you mean he wants to kill me?"

"No. It is to his greatest benefit to keep you alive…for the time being. I mean precisely what I said: he wants your blood." Snape elaborated further. "As I stated earlier this afternoon, the Dark Lord has been gaining strength steadily ever since his return to power little more than one year ago. I believe you remember the potion he used in that instance?"

Harry nodded.

"Then I need not remind you that your blood was a key component in that potion."

Harry nodded again, wanting more.

"Something happened as a result of that potion that even the Dark Lord did not expect. He surpassed his previous strength of abilities. He is now capable of far more than he was even during the previous war, and he has determined that it was the use of _your_ blood in the potion that allowed his power to grow. For a reason which one can only guess, the connections between the two of you do not end in the mind. The interaction of your blood with his…I've never seen anything like it." Snape paused, lost no doubt in scientific thought.

Harry couldn't last more than a moment before clearing his throat in an impatient ploy to bring Snape back from whatever potions-centric world of his mind he'd drifted off to.

Fortunately, it worked. Snape continued. "The Dark Lord wants to capture you in order to acquire as much of your blood as possible – without yet killing you. He now believes it is the way by which he will rise to ultimate power. Indeed," Snape contemplated seriously, "if he is correct, and if he succeeds, there may not be an army of wizards on earth who can stop him from reaching his ends."

Snape allowed Harry to soak in that last thought before continuing with his own line of questioning. "The trunk. What else is in there?"

It was harder for Harry to shift gears than it had been for Snape, especially after what he had just learned. He couldn't help a feeling of bewilderment. How could the man possibly expect him to abandon the important topic of himself and Voldemort to talk about his school trunk?

Well, he reminded himself, the sooner he played along, the sooner he could ask his next question. And considering how informative Snape was being, he was not about to give up now.

"The trunk. Right," he thought aloud. He directed the rest toward Snape. "Well, my wand, obviously. My school robes and books. Pretty much all of my stuff that has to do with magic…which is most everything, actually," he frowned to himself.

"The lock is your uncle's doing?" came a follow-up question.

"Erm…yeah."

"And how long have those items been locked from your sight? Other than the aforementioned wand."

"Since I got back here for summer holiday," Harry answered, eyes on his on his hands. He was back to twisting the string, which was just about to break into two pieces. "After Moody…" he stopped, realizing he'd just brought up one more thing he'd have to explain. "Er, Moody and some of the others kind of threatened Uncle Vernon at the train station at the beginning of summer to leave me alone. So when we got back to the house, Uncle Vernon said the only way he'd feel safe enough letting me roam about the house was if all my magical stuff was locked away. I managed to sneak out a few things, including my wand…for a while, anyway."

"I take it your relatives…dislike…magic?" Snape questioned carefully.

Harry let out a short bitter laugh at that understatement. His thread finally broke apart, and he threw one half to the ground, still twisting the other. "They like things to be normal. Magic isn't normal," he explained simply. "To them, I mean," he rushed to explain, not wanting his own views about magic to be misunderstood.

He cast questioning eyes on Snape, hopeful that he had said enough to be able to ask another question of his own.

At Snape's slight nod, he dove right in. "This plan to get me and…my blood," Harry shuddered. Saying that out loud about himself was kind of creepy. "You said he wanted to keep me alive. I don't get it. Why take the chance of me getting away? Why not just kill me and take it all?"

"For several reasons," Snape began right away. Harry wondered if he, too, was eager to answer so he could get back to his own questions. "This is a new revelation to him. He does not yet know what other uses you may present to him. As for the blood…as long as you are alive, you will keep producing more of it. He does not know yet how much it will take to reach his maximum power. It would hardly benefit him to kill you only to learn that he needed more."

"Right." Harry racked his brain for something else to ask _on topic_ so he could get more information before having to wait his next turn. "How does he plan on keeping me then? Alive, I mean, without escaping? Does he have some magical dungeon somewhere? Some Frankenstein-type lab so he can strap me up to a table or something?"

Snape looked a little confused at that last bit, but he didn't ask for clarification. "A potion, Potter," he answered, entering professor mode. "A potion has been developed which will allow your body and magic to function regularly, while keeping a leash on your mind. Similar to a sleeping draught, only both far more potent and far less likely to lure your body into a vegetative state, as would most definitely be the case with the overdose of a sleeping draught."

A potion...he felt chilled at a sneaking suspicion. "By 'been developed.' Um…you mean that _you_ developed it…don't you? For me…"

Snape didn't betray a thing in the way of emotion or affirmation, but his mere steady stare confirmed the answer to that question.

"Oh," was all Harry could say. He didn't understand why he wasn't enraged at that. Of course, it didn't really fall out of the scope of what things Harry had imagined Snape might do in Voldemort's service. He felt another chill at the horror of being placed under the influence of a potion like that…to be living, but not _really_ living…

"Ahem." This time it was Snape clearing his throat for Harry's attention. "I do believe it is my turn." Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining it, or if Snape had looked the slightest bit uncomfortable. But whatever he'd seen in the man's eyes was gone in an instant, so he really couldn't be too sure.

"If your school books are locked in that trunk until September, how do you intend to do your summer homework?"

Harry dropped his thread altogether. "Wait a minute. I'm asking about the war and all you want to know is what's in my school trunk and when I'm going to get my homework done? What is this, some kind of joke?"

Snape quirked a brow. "Joke? I would have thought you'd be thrilled, Potter. Or would you rather I find something else to ask? I am sure I can adequately satisfy your desire to be more invasively questioned…"

"I'll cram the weekend before classes start," Harry took the hint and answered the question. "Unless I get out of here before then. Last summer I got to stay at headquarters for the last few weeks, and a couple summers ago I got to go to the Weasleys. If the headmaster lets me go somewhere else again, then I could do it there. Of course," he reflected, not sure why he was both rambling and venturing to be quite so honest with his professor on this particular topic, "I guess in the past I've been a little…er, excited to be anywhere but here, so homework hasn't really been the first thing on my mind…"

"Really." Snape's dry comment lacked any vindictiveness, which Harry found really, really odd. He was, after all, discussing the lack of effort in Harry's homework, something Snape historically liked nothing more than to point out with malice. "You are forbidden to do your schoolwork here, then?"

"Well…not if they don't find out about it," responded Harry honestly. "They haven't always locked up my trunk, so before I could sometimes get my stuff out and work on it in my room after they were all asleep."

Snape fell silent then, as if Harry had given him something greater to ponder than the state of his summer homework. As if he'd discovered a piece of the puzzle.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He was starting to feel really weird talking with Snape like this. They hadn't even argued for most of the time they'd been talking, and he resisted the urge to pick a fight just so they'd be on familiar territory.

Instead, he got up to stretch. He hadn't been sitting for too long, but he felt like it had been for ages. His bad shoulder was starting to scream at him again, though at least the other one was only slightly sore. He paced a bit, letting his mind wander back to Snape's revelations to him. He figured he should take advantage of Snape's silence to think about his next line of questioning. He tried not to let himself over-think what he had just learned, which was already a great deal, but there were loads of questions still on his mind, and he needed to figure out the best way to get them out before he got too caught up in thinking it all through.

He wanted to know more about Voldemort's Plan – now that he knew what it was regarding Harry, what was the whole story with them watching the house?

And he wanted to know about Dumbledore and the Order. What were their latest developments and what were they up to lately in response to Voldemort's increasing threat? Or wait…that led to another question.

"Does Dumbledore know about this? And the Order? About _him_ and…me. Er, the whole blood thing." Harry blurted, suddenly needing to know.

Snape was looking up at him, but he seemed to be deep in thought. It took him a moment to answer. "Yes. I have kept them apprised of the situation. What they do not know is that the Dark Lord has resumed his attempts to capture you. He had been giving you a wide berth as of late, waiting until the optimal moment."

"The…optimal moment…" Harry prodded.

"He needed to be certain that everything was in place prior to retrieving you." Snape's focus returned completely to the conversation, then. "This plan is too important to him to allow any room for error. As the most arduous item was the potion that I was creating for him, we had hoped to lead him to believe that the potion was not of a formulation that would allow quick preparation. That was easy to do – he would never suspect that the potion, which was difficult to develop, was actually quite simple to brew. It was to buy us several more weeks, by which time the headmaster would arrange for your secret early return to Hogwarts. You would have been guarded, of course. We had counted on the Dark Lord to plan his capture of you within that one week window."

"So something went wrong, then."

Snape let out a sneer, his first since the conversation began. "Yes, something went wrong," he bit out, his words laced with sarcasm, though Harry couldn't tell if his biting tone was directed at Harry or at himself. "My allegiances were discovered. After the Dark Lord knew that I had betrayed him, it was only a matter of some effort to gather my findings and assign someone else to brew the potion. One hour. With the proper ingredients at their disposal, that is all the time even someone moderately skilled in the art of potion making would require to brew it to completion."

Harry thought back to his vision, of Snape writhing in pain as Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus curse. And of Wormtail coming up to him. He wondered if those papers the rat had given Voldemort had anything to do with Snape's potion. Maybe, if that was the only thing keeping him from going after Harry…

Taking Harry's quiet reflection for the end of his questioning, Snape wasted no time starting in with his own. And, Harry realized, he had apparently exhausted his supply of "easy" questions.

"Is the scene I overheard indicative of the usual exchanges between you and your uncle?"

This was the type of question he'd been expecting in the very beginning of their conversation. He sourly wondered if maybe Snape hadn't given him simpler questions at the very first on purpose. He was by now so caught up in hearing Snape's informative answers that he didn't want to stop them by not answering something himself.

It didn't help that he felt off balance by the general lack of outright hatred Snape was letting show. Harry still didn't believe for one moment that it was gone or anything – just that Snape was playing a part to get what he wanted. Still, knowing that didn't make the situation any less weird. And even though his opinion of the man was unchanged, it was harder to be cheeky when Snape was purposely _not_ egging him on.

"Should I rephrase the question?"

Harry looked up, halfway hoping to see a familiar snide face to put normalcy back into their exchange, but Snape's features were neutral, his expression saying he had meant the question exactly as stated.

Harry took a breath and let it out slowly. "He likes to yell a lot. That part's spot on. The, um…other part…" Harry couldn't quite vocalize what they both knew he was referring to. "Not really. I mean, he hasn't…you know…for years." He brought his hand to his cheek, holding in a wince. It still wasn't all that bad, really. It wasn't as if Vernon had punched him or anything – it was just a slap. Feeling how it was still sore, though, Harry figured he'd have a bit of a bruise for the next few days.

"He has hit you before, then?" Snape apparently had no qualms about saying it out loud.

Harry shrugged, studying the floor, hoping against hope that Snape wouldn't press for an actual answer.

No such luck. Snape simply asked again, in a different way.

"You claim that he hasn't hit you for years. Obviously, then, he _has_ in the past. Explain."

He settled back into his seat. One of his hands was shaking a bit, and he willed it to stop. "I…I don't…I mean, what is there to explain? Sure, alright, he has! He hates me and he's never been exactly shy about letting me know! What else is there to _say_?"

Snape studied him, an odd expression in his eyes. If Harry didn't know better, he'd think Snape was a bit…unsettled. Ha! Not likely. He amended his absurd thoughts about the rigid Potions Master and focused on the next question directed his way.

"Does the Headmaster know how you are treated by your relatives?"

Harry shrugged again, then elaborated when a look at Snape confirmed that he wasn't going to accept that in response to his question. "He knows they don't want me. I've never talked to him about specifics, so I don't know if he knows _everything_," he answered honestly, "not that I think it would really matter. He knows I hate it here, and he sent me back anyway. For my own good." He said the last part bitterly, though he guessed he had come to accept the headmaster's reasoning, albeit grudgingly. If he really was protected from Voldemort in this house, well…he guessed he could try to be mature enough to understand that there were worse things that could happen to him than being stuck with the Dursleys. Or…well, it was possible that there were worse things, anyway.

Snape gestured, indicating to Harry that it was his turn. "Last question, Potter. For now," he added firmly when it looked like Harry might protest. "I do believe we have each gleaned sufficient information for proper consideration. We may continue later if we are in agreement."

Harry slowly nodded, part of him actually feeling kind of relieved. He could think of loads more questions to ask, but he _was_ pretty exhausted from all they'd discussed about both Voldemort and the Durlseys. He guessed he really could do with a break.

This made him think hard about what questions he really wanted answered now, and he settled on focusing on his immediate concerns. "Okay, then…is Wormtail the only one watching the house or are there others? Or are they taking turns or something?"

Snape pierced him with a stare, suspicion lacing his voice. "How do you know that Pettigrew was assigned to watch?"

"Oh. Um…" Oops. He hadn't thought about the fact that Snape hadn't told him that part, and he still wasn't ready to discuss his vision. So instead, he explained in fair detail the accident he'd seen the day before – the car, the bike, the rat jumping off the hood. "I saw the rat and remembered what you'd said, and I just figured…"

Snape still looked suspicious. Harry could tell he didn't really believe that was all there was to the story, but he answered Harry's question without bringing up more of his own. "The Dark Lord will likely have only one person on watch at a time. He has other schemes to keep himself and his followers occupied. The individual on watch will, however, call others instantly to their side if they see you about to leave."

"But I did leave – that's what I don't get! I was outside and they had a chance to get me, and they didn't. Why?"

Snape leaned back and closed his eyes, about finished with the conversation. "The wards, Potter. They extend to the edge of your aunt and uncle's property. As long as you are within those boundaries, they cannot touch you."

Snape's eyes popped open and he fixed a warning glare on Harry. "You are not to take that to mean wandering the yard is permitted. Warded or no, once you are outside the front door, all available followers of the Dark Lord will be called and waiting for you to set one foot too far. An insignificant accident is not the only method they have at their disposal to try to lure you from safety."

He glared at Harry until satisfied that he had properly understood, then leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes once more.

Harry did the same, mind reeling from all that he'd been told. And in light of all that, he couldn't help thinking of the prophecy again. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort if he really was even more powerful than before? What hope did he have against all the plots and schemes and means at his disposal? It all seemed so daunting.

The earlier boredom was a distant memory as silence spread over the room, both wizards lost in thought. Harry barely registered the sounds of first Petunia and Dudley, then Uncle Vernon, arriving home again, nor did he pay attention to the fading light outside his window. He finally lay down, fighting off sleep with the multitude of thoughts running through his mind.

Sleep eventually claimed him, all of his cares drifting away as he found himself transported to a familiar surrounding: the landscape of peaceful dreams, high above a Quidditch pitch on his broom. He soared high above the frenzy of players below him, and he felt free. But he at once had the nagging feeling this wasn't the first time he had been here, that there was something important he hadn't been able to do before.

A snitch was fluttering before him.

Catch the snitch, he thought. All other worries vanished, and he felt happy. And determined. He just knew something important would happen if he could just _catch the snitch_.


	7. Catching the Snitch

_A/N – If you want to get straight to the story, skip this beginning italics section._

_Unfortunately, if I stop to respond to all the fabulous reviews, I won't have time to write my story. Still, I want to thank everyone who continues to read and review this story – each and every one puts a great big smile on my face and inspires me to get moving on the next chapter!_

_I do want to take a minute to respond to two questions that were brought up on plot points that have not outright been explained. I may touch on these later in the fic, but as they're not really areas for suspense…well, I thought I shouldn't leave you thinking that these are holes in my story. _

_**Raion – **_

_Your question: "__The protective wards are blood wards and Harry is protected through the blood of his mother, through Petunia. But Voldemort has this blood now as well, so the wards really should not stop him from entering the house!"_

_My answer: If anyone should know that the blood wards are compromised, Dumbledore should, and in the books, his plan included sending Harry back to the Dursleys for the remaining summers. For the purposes of my fic, you can assume that there are some things that Dumbledore still has not fully explained to Harry. Whether this is one of them, we'll have to wait and see… Just know that it is not a mistake._

_**Anaknisatanas –**_

_Your question: __"I find if hard to believe that Dumbledore doesn't know something's up since so many letters had to be sent to Harry, they surely would have looked at the addresses then and seen the whole 'Cupboard Under the Stairs' bit."_

_My answer: I agree – I think Dumbledore knows more about Harry's home life than Harry really realizes or is willing to admit. (And Dumbledore did admit at the end of Fifth year that he knew a few things.) I thought I ought to explain here that Harry's answers were from his own perspective and may not be indicative of what Dumbledore or anyone else would have answered if asked the same question. Again, as in my last answer, there are details that Dumbledore may not have shared with Harry. (And, as he is a teenage boy, even though he's smart and notices a lot, he doesn't notice everything.)_

_Thank you both (and everyone!) for your sharp observations and great comments! I hope that clarified without giving anything away. _

_Now, on to the next chapter:_

**Chapter Seven – Catching the Snitch**

Harry's eyes shot open and blinked into the darkness of his room.

It took him a moment to realize that something had woken him. Some sound. But what sound? He didn't hear anything.

In answer to his question, a low hoot drifted through Harry's bedroom window.

_Hedwig?_

He grabbed for his glasses and jumped up and over to the window, suddenly alert in anticipation of seeing his one summer friend. Even his sleepy mind remembered right away that seeing Hedwig was the first step in getting rid of Snape. The darkness seemed just a little bit brighter to Harry as he looked through the window to the affectionate eyes of his snowy owl.

"Hey, Hedwig," Harry whispered, grinning wider as he saw why she hadn't edged through the window he always left ajar for her. Behind her in the moonlight were three more owls, all with brightly wrapped packages. And Hedwig carried the largest of all, a square box wrapped in shimmering paper.

He glanced at the clock to confirm. 12:17. Today was his sixteenth birthday!

Just knowing that his friends had remembered gave him a warm feeling inside. He had been in fairly constant contact with Ron and Hermione this summer, but not being able to see them was always hard to get used to in the summers, after almost daily contact throughout the school year. Getting something more than a letter made it feel like his friends were just a bit closer.

Hedwig was inching in now, and as soon as she and her package were through the bars, Harry relieved her of her burden. He noticed right off that the paper he'd thought was shimmering was actually decorated with tiny objects moving swiftly across it in every direction. A closer look in direct moonlight revealed tiny Quidditch players flying and dodging and chasing each other around the paper.

He tore his delighted eyes away to gather the rest of the packages from the owls, by now completely through the window and around Hedwig's cage. Thankfully, there was still enough water in Hedwig's cage to satisfy all four. Harry quickly grabbed some owl treats, keeping careful watch on the still-sleeping Snape lest the man find out about his hiding place beneath the floorboards and decide to dig through its contents.

With four owls occupied and resting, Harry sat with his bright packages and took his time deciding which to open first. He loved this feeling, and he closed his eyes, pretending for a moment that the people he loved the most were there with him, celebrating his birthday.

His hungry stomach rumbled at the imagined smell of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and he could see Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys gathered around telling stories and playing games of chess and Exploding Snap**.** He smiled as he wondered what stunt the Weasley twins might pull for everyone's amusement.

Not able to stand it any longer, he grabbed one of the boxes from the small pile and opened the letter attached to it.

His eyes strained to read the letter before, with a look at Snape's sleeping back, he gave in and reached for the desk light. He did his best to shield it from waking Snape and let out a breath in relief as a full minute went by and the man didn't stir.

The letter was written in Fred's hasty scrawl.

_Harry,_

_Happy birthday! As our favorite investor, we're giving you first look at our newest and greatest invention. No one knows about this yet, so keep it quiet! (Especially from our Mum.)_

_Fred & George_

Curiosity piqued, he tore open the small oblong package as quickly and as quietly as he could and emptied the contents into his hand. There was a small paper attached to what looked to be a regular pair of reading glasses. Harry wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. He was sure the Weasleys wouldn't consider a plain old pair of reading glasses their greatest invention. He turned over the small paper and read the short instructions.

_**Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Wall Watcher**_

_**Directions:**__ Place glasses on bridge of nose and secure to ears. _

_**Warnings:**__ May cause dizziness; it is recommended to close eyes until glasses are fully in place. Use sparingly; object is not intended for extended wear._

_**Limitations:**__ Will not achieve same results with greater than one wall thickness. Does not counteract wards. Will not operate on objects not fastened to a wall, floor, or ceiling._

Hmm. Harry couldn't resist. He removed his own glasses, closed his eyes, and secured the reading glasses onto his face. He opened his eyes slowly, directing them at the note, now blurry. Amazingly, though, the note began to come clear. Self-adjusting glasses! Harry was pleased, though he still didn't quite get it. Why would the Weasleys send him a pair of wizarding glasses when he already had a pair that suited him just fine?

Putting the note aside, he looked back to the rest of his presents. And opened his eyes wide.

They were floating in mid-air.

Wait. They weren't the only things floating – there was nothing underneath him, either! Startled, he felt all around him. He felt some small relief at touching solid ground. But he couldn't see it. Looking down, there was only darkness.

But glancing up, he could see the night sky clearly through where his bedroom wall and ceiling should have been. The hum of nocturnal insects reached him with perfect clarity.

Alarm forgotten as the sight awed him, he grinned. A pair of glasses that would let him see and hear between walls! He thought of a ton of uses for it – if he was ever at headquarters again, maybe he could find out what went on in those Order meetings. And while here, he could look at the stars while in his bed at night. And he could see out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear whenever he wanted out. Well, at least, that would help when the door wasn't locked.

He removed and put them back in the box for safekeeping, putting his own glasses back into place. He could hardly wait until his new present would really come in handy.

Harry reached for the largest present next, not able to resist the brightly wrapped package. The tiny Quidditch players were still zooming around all sides of the box, and as he watched, two players collided, sending up an outcry from both teams. Harry stifled a laugh until he realized they had stopped play and were starting to argue amongst themselves. Loudly.

His attempts to shush them weren't doing any good, and he looked around for something to muffle them with. His hand was halfway to picking up one of his shirts when he felt, rather than saw, a certain pair of eyes on him.

He warily lifted his head.

Sure enough, Snape was propped on his elbow in bed, facing him now and staring at him with those coal black eyes. Eyes that were clearly annoyed at yet another rest being disturbed by a member of this household. Eyes that were now drifting from Harry to the packages on the floor to the open window and finally to the four owls perched on the desk.

Snape abruptly sat up. "How long have these owls been here?" the man furiously hissed.

"They just got here," Harry whispered, busying his hands with draping the shirt over his present. The players quieted right down. He directed his focus back to Snape and the professor's clearly disbelieving glare. "Well, maybe a few minutes ago," Harry admitted, bracing himself.

Snape looked about ready to explode, but instead he reached for the pile of parchment he had penned the day before and snatched up the top sheet. Rolling it up, he grated through his teeth, "I have been waiting nearly two days for your owl to return so that I can post a message to Dumbledore. After everything I detailed to you yesterday, and the time-sensitive nature of this war, would it not occur to you to wake me _immediately_ upon its return?"

Without waiting for a response, he stalked over to the desk and handed the note to Hedwig, clearly the most fit and rested of the owls. "Take this to Albus Dumbledore," he quietly ordered. "Deliver it directly into his hands and do not leave until he has read it."

Hedwig hooted and left right away, clearly having sensed the urgency of the missive.

Snape turned to survey the room, eyes resting once more on the small pile of presents. "What is this?" he questioned, his stance rigid.

Harry felt a weight settle on his chest. Snape was the absolute last person on earth he wanted to share his birthday with, even under normal circumstances. But everything they'd discussed the day before came rushing back to him, and he felt his face involuntarily heat up with mortification. How could it have seemed alright at the time to admit his childhood woes to _Snape_, of all people? What had he been _thinking_?

But it was too late now to go back and change things. And right then, with Snape staring down at him and Harry mulling over every detail the man had gleaned about him, even the thought of all he'd learned in exchange didn't cheer him up.

He dropped his eyes, not wanting to meet Snape's any longer. He didn't feel like picking a fight, but he didn't feel like making nice either. He just wanted the older wizard to go away. Far away. Maybe to another planet where he'd never have to see him again or face the fact that he knew those things about Harry. Yeah, that far away would be nice.

Snape tapped his foot, the motion comical in his socks and too-short trousers. Harry might have laughed if he didn't feel the situation so un-laughable. "What. Is. This?" The professor voiced his question again, just as quietly, but with a dangerous edge that clearly said that he despised being ignored.

Harry let out a breath. "It's my birthday," he admitted, forcing his eyes back up to meet Snape's. "These are birthday presents," he explained simply.

Snape crossed his arms and stared at him for a long moment with an inscrutable expression. Harry wasn't sure what to expect – a lecture about impatience and opening presents in the middle of the night, perhaps? Or would he harp more on the topic of not waking him right away?

But Snape skipped the topic of Harry's birthday altogether with an entirely different observation. "I smell food," he declared, and stalked nearer to Harry. "Where is it?"

"Food?" Harry repeated, confused. He looked around at the cat flap in the door and saw that nothing had been left for him. He was about to say as much when his nose caught the scent of something so delicious that his stomach rumbled loudly in demand. The smell was so good, in fact, that Harry didn't know why he hadn't noticed before. And before he could finish processing that thought, something told him exactly where the aroma had come from. Quickly, he unearthed the large Quidditch-decorated present again and ripped open the wrapping before the players could think of fighting again.

A heavenly aroma drifted even stronger from the open package as Harry lifted out several small containers – some kind of casserole, a few whole pieces of fruit, and a generous helping of cake and pudding. There were even utensils! Forgetting Snape for a moment, he smiled in delight and tore open the attached card.

_Harry,_

_Hey, mate! How has your summer been? Are the Muggles treating you alright? _

_Not much going on here. Mum and Dad haven't let me and Ginny out much this summer. I think they're worried about You-Know-Who. But we're going crazy cooped up like this. I guess you know what it's like, though, from what you've said about your summers, huh?_

_Here's something to help you look forward to Quidditch next year. And mum sent you some things in case the Muggles put Dudley on a diet again. The sugar plum pudding was my idea. Happy birthday!_

_Ron_

Harry peeked at the bottom of the box and pulled out some Quidditch trading cards and assorted wizarding candy. Putting Ron's gifts aside for later perusal, he opened the food containers and breathed in deeply.

His enjoyment was cut short by the sound of a throat clearing, and a glance upward revealed Snape towering over him, tapping his foot again in impatience.

"I do not deny that starving has its appeal when compared to being trapped together in this room. I, however, would prefer to have a choice in the matter," Snape snapped, irritation in every syllable. He stared pointedly at the food, then back at Harry.

"Oh. Right." Harry sorely wished he didn't have a conscience as he gripped the container filled with casserole and remembered that Snape had gone even longer without food than he had. He held the container for a moment longer, then slowly, reluctantly held it out to share. Snape snatched up the entire container, snaking another hand out to grab a piece of fruit from Harry's stash.

Harry's glare was conveniently ignored as Snape settled himself at the desk to eat, immediately biting into the juicy piece of fruit.

But angry though he was, he was surprised to feel relief as well. Nothing seemed to have changed between him and his hated professor. The unsettled feeling he'd had since their uncharacteristically civil conversation several hours prior began to ease. Who'd have thought that he'd actually be relieved to be dealing with a bitter, disagreeable Snape over the one from yesterday? And yet he did. This Snape was familiar ground. This Snape made him feel like he hadn't bared all of his secrets.

Well, not _all _of his secrets, he supposed. Thank Merlin the professor still didn't know about the cupboard or how bad his nightmares could get or the extent of Dudley's bullying as a kid…or a number of other details Harry could do without having revealed.

_Yeah_, he forced himself to be grateful, _things could be worse._

A glance at the remaining presents from his friends further drove it home. Yeah, things could definitely be a lot worse than having friends who cared about him enough to not only remember his birthday, but have their parents send food just when he most needed some. He bit into one of the pieces of fruit and forced himself to forget about Snape's nastiness long enough to return to the next package.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday! I hope you are able to properly celebrate it this year. I sent you something I think you might enjoy. Yes, it's a book, but before you decide the summer holidays shouldn't include reading, open it. I really think you'll like it._

_Ron told me his parents have been trying to talk Dumbledore into letting you stay at Headquarters for the rest of the summer so they can see you. He hasn't said yes yet, but Ron, Ginny, and I are going to be there the last week of summer and I really hope he'll let you come then._

_You haven't received your O.W.L. results yet, have you? They should be out any day now, and I've been checking the owl post hourly just to see if they've arrived. I can't wait to finalize my selection of classes with Professor McGonagall. I tried to already, but she told me that even though she was sure I passed all of my subjects, I'd have to wait for my O.W.L results like everybody else. It's killing me!_

_Well, again, I do hope you have a happy birthday!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry grinned. Leave it to Hermione to revive his good mood, just by being her school-obsessed self.

He tore into the package, which, sure enough, was just large enough to hold a book, and read the long title, _Advanced Practical Defense Techniques: Dueling, Blocking, and Avoiding Catastrophe_, by Gerhaardt Blund. Harry leafed through it and was pleasantly surprised to find it full of useful information, much of which he hadn't learned before. It looked like it would be easy to follow, too, with anecdotes, diagrams, and even step by step instructions for some of the most advanced spells.

_Thank you, Hermione_, he thought with a smile.

"Well, well. Harry Potter, not only holding a book in his hands, but smiling about it as well. Will wonders never cease?" Snape's dry comment drew Harry's attention back to his…well, cellmate, for all intents and purposes.

Snape took another bite of the casserole, having finished off his piece of fruit. Harry noted that the man didn't look quite as irritable as before, probably a product of having food in his stomach. He was leaning back in the chair, now facing Harry, and Harry let out a scowl at being the man's dinner entertainment.

Snape merely took another bite and continued to watch him, indifferent to his obvious resentment.

Well, Harry could play the 'I'm ignoring you' game just as well as Snape could – just see if he couldn't. Setting the book aside, he turned to his final package and read the brief note.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I found something that I thought you should have. It belonged to Sirius. If you would like to individualize it, I would be happy to show you how to do so. Happy birthday._

_Remus Lupin_

Something that belonged to Sirius? Harry lay down the letter with shaking hands and reached for the final remaining package. It was small and wrapped in bright gold paper. He found it difficult to open with his nervous fingers, but the wrapping eventually fell away.

He opened the small gift box inside the wrapping and lifted out a very old-looking pocket watch. It was silver, with tiny inscriptions on both the outside and the inside – so tiny that he couldn't make them out in the dim light from his lamp. The inside of the watch reminded him of the clock he'd seen at the Weasleys several times before. Where numbers would usually be on a Muggle watch, this one had words – very tiny words to fit around the edge of its face: "tower," "detention," "class," "great hall," "forest," "grounds," and "on holiday," were squeezed into the space. And on the hands, making his heart skip a beat, he saw the names of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

All four hands were pointing to "on holiday," the only designation on the watch for not being at Hogwarts.

Harry swallowed. Hard.

If only it were that simple…that his father and Sirius were simply on holiday. It would mean they weren't really gone forever. That they'd be back soon…with Harry.

His eyes were moist, and he put the watch back in its box before he did the unthinkable and cried in front of Snape.

He couldn't help a glance back up at his professor, which only confirmed, to his irritation, that he was still being watched. He gathered up his presents in a hurry and stuffed them into the corner of his wardrobe, careful to hide the book under a few shirts. It wasn't likely that his uncle would come digging through his things, but this summer especially it looked like he would be better off without having a clearly magical book out in plain sight.

He turned back around and nearly bumped into Snape's solid form. Harry jumped back with a yelp. The man had walked across the room without Harry even hearing him.

"What was that last package you opened, Potter?" Snape questioned intently, watching Harry's face for clues.

"Just a watch. Nothing important," he blurted. He was getting even more annoyed. What, did Snape think that just because he was here in Harry's bedroom and had found out a few details about Harry's life, he was entitled to know everything now?

"It upset you. Why?" Snape prodded.

Harry's mouth swung open. Snape had another thing coming if he honestly thought Harry was going to pour out his grief for his lost parents and godfather right here and now. Or anywhere where Snape was present, as a matter of fact.

Why did he care, anyway? Oh, but wait. He had that puzzle-figuring face back on. The one Harry was beginning to recognize as his "play nice to get the information I want" face. The one he had hoped he'd been rid of earlier.

Well, Harry didn't have to play nice. He firmly closed the wardrobe door behind him and hardened his face into a glare at the other wizard. "It was nothing, sir. Just a birthday present. _My_ birthday present," he stressed and motioned toward the bed. "I am terribly sorry to have disturbed your sleep, Professor. I am sure you must be positively exhausted," he said in a false tone dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"So hospitable, Potter. Again, something I never would have guessed." Snape stared intently at Harry another moment, features carefully controlled but devoid of his earlier malice, before turning to the bed, his back to Harry once more.

Harry shook his head. At least he could count on an insult. But no fight?

Snape was starting to give him a really bad headache. He'd never had trouble predicting what he would do before – or at least how nasty it would be – but after yesterday, he felt tossed back and forth. The bitter Snape, the one who hated him and who he'd always known, was still there for the most part, but now it was like he had another Snape on his hands. A Snape who asked questions – personal questions – and noticed his reactions to things. And treated him not as much with hate, but with…well, he would describe it as calculating calm. This not knowing which Snape he would be dealing with from minute to minute was getting tiresome.

At least he didn't have a Snape who genuinely cared about him, he reflected and nearly gagged at the thought. That was one Snape he'd have absolutely no clue how to handle. Ugh. He shuddered and pushed that nausea-rising thought out of his head.

Yeah, it was a good thing _that_ would never happen.

Turning out the light, he settled back into his bed of shirts and emptied his head of all thoughts save one: If all went well, tomorrow he would be rid of both sides of Severus Snape.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

…

The sky was clear above the Quidditch pitch, and Harry felt free, basking in the sun in mid-air. He was so relaxed, it took him a moment to remember he was in the middle of a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Players flew in a maddening frenzy below him, and he pulled his broom higher so that they looked like bees furiously flying around their hive. He wondered absently if bees ever had wars like people did. Something about that thought triggered something. Had he been here before?

A cheer rang out from the crowd as Gryffindor's Chaser sent the Quaffle through the goal, and his thoughts shifted back to the game. Harry raised his arm in a silent cheer for his teammates and scanned over the pitch for the tiny, golden snitch. It sometimes took hours to locate the elusive snitch, but this time it took Harry only minutes to see a shimmering dot slightly lower in the sky than he was. He dove straight for it and closed his hand around it in one swoop.

Completely exhilarated, he raised his arm once more in victory, lowering his face to share his excitement with an uproarious crowd.

But where the crowd was a moment ago, he found himself looking upon an endless field, the landscape broken only by the occasional ruin jutting out of the ground.

He swiveled around. Where was he? Where were all the people?

The air was stale, like he wasn't outside at all, but inside an enclosed box that had been too long forgotten in an abandoned attic. Stillness was everywhere – no wind was blowing; not even the smallest blade of grass was moving. Nothing seemed right about the scene in which he found himself.

His hand loosened from around the snitch he still held, and it sprang free, flittering all around him before flying away. Leaning forward, Harry urged his broom to follow. He flew for what seemed like hours before he saw a glimpse of what looked like smoke on the horizon. He flew faster.

When he reached his destination, it was to find the aftermath of a recent battle. Smoke from the charred remains of a village permeated the air and left Harry gasping for breath. He considered leaving but flew closer to the ground instead, giving wide berth to the heavily smoking areas. Houses were burned to the ground and debris was strewn everywhere.

And then he saw the bodies. Young, old, men, women, children – their lifeless bodies spotted the streets, some drenched in blood, some burned beyond recognition. He closed his eyes against rising nausea and raised his broom again into the air. He already knew he wouldn't find anyone alive. He was too late to save anyone.

He circled the perimeter of the town, hoping for a glance of something familiar, something that would tell him where he was. And then he saw it. A sign, blurred through the smoke. He flew closer, closer. He could almost make it out, now…

HOGSMEADE

He couldn't breathe. The ruins. The bodies. Hogsmeade. Was this really happening?

He turned in the direction that should lead him to Hogwarts and found a nearly identical scene to the one he had left. Hogwarts was burned to the ground. Bodies were scattered in every direction, and he didn't dare get close enough to see if he recognized any of them.

He was frozen in shock, letting his broom keep him in the air.

"It happened quickly," came a voice to his left. Harry whirled around. He was in shock, yes, but that didn't account for what he was seeing now.

He was looking at himself. A mirror image of Harry was sitting on a broom several yards from where he was hovering on his own broom. The other Harry was staring at the carnage before them.

"They knew it was coming, of course," the voice went on. "It was only a matter of time after you were defeated. You were their last hope. Partly their fault, perhaps, for putting too much faith in one person, but then that's what people try to do, don't they?" He looked up. "Look for a savior, I mean."

Harry opened his mouth several times before he could voice his one question. "Who are you?"

"I am you, of course. I am the part of yourself you will only see in dreams. In your waking hours you allow too much to distract you. You distance yourself from me."

Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion. "I…I don't understand. Are you real? Is this a dream?"

"Yes, this is a dream. Does that really make it any less real?" He shrugged.

"But I am imaging you, aren't I? And I'm imagining this."

The other Harry gestured around them, at the field of smoke and blood. "Does it matter? This is real, Harry. This is what will come of Hogwarts, of Britain, of the world, if the war against Voldemort is lost. That that is real is what matters. The rest you will come to understand in time."

"No! I want to understand now!" He was suddenly angry. And frightened. And though he somehow knew by now that he was caught in a dream, that this was not reality, he nonetheless understood that this very well could become a reality if the war was lost. Was this inevitable? Would he fail and would this fate be in store for his friends, no matter his efforts? "Please," he began again, pleading this time, "Please. I need to understand. Tell me. Are you real? Am I imagining this because this is my fear? Or am I really, truly seeing the future? Please, you have to tell me."

The other Harry looked at him with sympathy before scanning his eyes over the desolate battlefield. He said nothing for several minutes, and when he looked back up, Harry could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. "I know that you feel alone…I know, because I am a part of you, Harry. You hold a great weight on your shoulders, but I hold much of the weight so that you don't have to. One day, you will be fully aware of me. But not today, Harry. You're not ready."

"Well, that's just great! Even my own subconscious thinks I'm still a child! How can I be ready to fight a war if I don't even trust me enough to tell myself what is going on?" His rage was simmering below the surface, ready to burst forth.

"Ah. That's just it, Harry. You're not ready to fight the war, and like it or not, you are still a child. You know that. You even want that more than you'd like to admit. You're growing up, certainly, which is why you are now seeing me at all. But 'growing up' isn't 'grown.' You have a ways to go before you can claim that.

"Here," he continued, and threw a small object toward Harry, who easily caught it. It was the snitch. "You'll need that."

The shiny golden ball in Harry's grasp was swirling with colors, and as Harry watched, a clear image of Dumbledore appeared and winked out at him before calling to him jovially, "Sugar plums, Harry. It's all about the sugar plums!" The image of Dumbledore raised a glass in a mock toast before disappearing from sight. Harry looked up, confused.

"There was another prophecy, Harry," Other Harry ignored the image in the snitch, "made after you defeated Voldemort as an infant. That's what I came to tell you. Dumbledore didn't show it to you because he knew it wasn't about you; it was about someone else. But like most things connected to this war, it concerns you.

"Talk with Dumbledore. Tell him about me. Tell him I've seen the future unfold. And tell him to let the prophecy run its course. He'll be able to explain the rest."

He turned then and flew a short distance away from a stunned Harry before calling back, "I am the part of you who sees what is to come, Harry. You are the part of me who can stop it." He then swiveled back around on his broom and flew away.

"Wait! Come back!" Harry yelled at the retreating figure. But when he blinked his eyes, the figure and his broom were gone.

The snitch in his hand was still, and he saw only his reflection in it this time.

Taking stock of his surroundings, he found that he had drifted lower during their exchange, and now as he glanced below him, he could make out a shock of red hair in the rubble. He couldn't stop his eyes from scanning the figure. It was Fred…or George. He couldn't tell, and a moment later he knew it didn't matter. An identical body was lying next to it, arm raised above his head as if trying to fend off a curse. They must have come to defend the school together. And they had died together.

Harry was going to be sick. He knew he should leave. He'd had the good sense earlier to stay far enough away not to see his lifeless friends. But he couldn't, not now. Not being so close to them. He knew without wondering how, that he was a part of the scene. He was as part of it as the collapsed astronomy tower beyond, and his only escape was in waking.

Then he saw them. Right near the dead, blackened remains of the weeping willow. They were all there – Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna... Almost the entire DA was near that one spot. They must have tried to use it as a cover – and a strategy of escape. Only, their lifeless bodies attested to the failure of that plan.

Harry landed and jumped off his broom next to Ron. The red-haired boy was dirty and covered in blood. Harry couldn't tell how he had been killed, nor did he care to find out. He was dead; that's all that mattered. He and the others were dead because Harry had failed.

Harry had failed.

The tears he had kept at bay ran down his cheeks in a silent stream of guilt and sorrow.

"No," he whispered. "It hasn't happened yet, Ron. Do you hear me? It hasn't happened. You're not dead. I won't let you be dead. I'll fix this. I swear I'll fix this."

He tried to wake up, willed himself to open his eyes and escape from this nightmare of death and ruins. But every time he closed and opened his eyes, the scenery turned more hopeless. His eyes filled with the horror before him. An endless sea of bodies, all bloody, some burned. His senses slowly came more aware, and his nostrils filled with the stench of burning and death.

He clutched at the snitch. He felt more sick than he'd ever felt in his life. He needed to retch, but he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't leave.

He needed release from the horror he felt inside.

And so he did the only thing his body would let him do.

He screamed.


	8. Of Wizards and Muggles

**Chapter Eight – Of Wizards and Muggles**

Harry couldn't stop screaming. No words, just screams. Terrified, anguished screams.

He tried to move, tried to wake, but he couldn't. He was trapped in his nightmare. Panic overtook his fear and sorrow then. What if he couldn't wake up? What if he was stuck forever in this frozen moment where nothing moved and nothing lived?

His screams gained momentum, broken only by his short, shallow gasps for air.

Maybe if he screamed loudly enough, someone somewhere would hear him. Anyone. He didn't want to face this alone.

Please, he thought, unable to articulate the words through the screams, just don't make me face this alone.

Not all alone.

He paused again to gasp for breath when he felt something against the skin on his arm. No, wait. _Someone._ Someone had hold of his arm. He looked around himself frantically but saw nothing but the battlefield. No one save the dead.

He opened his mouth to continue his screams and again felt the pressure on his arm. It was shaking him. He couldn't see anyone, but he knew there was someone there. He reached out, blindly, and encountered a solid form. Warm, breathing.

Alive.

He latched onto the form, clinging for dear life, lest the form which was invisible to his eyes vanish from touch as well.

It tried to push him away.

No! He closed his fists tighter, panic fighting off the momentary comfort he'd felt. The form didn't want him. It was pushing him back toward the nightmare. His breaths started coming in short gasps again, and he felt a scream beginning in the back of his throat.

The form stopped pushing him away and after a brief hesitation, drew him close.

The scream died on his lips. He felt warmth on his face. A heart was beating next to his cheek. He concentrated on the feeling, which soon became a sound – and then a scent. The steady rhythm drew him further and further from the horror. The bodies gradually faded, and the battlefield vanished from sight. With a final shudder, he could feel himself rising up, up through the clouds toward the light.

And with the light came more sound. The sounds had been there for a while, he realized. He hadn't been able to hear them, but some part of himself had been resisting their call.

Someone was yelling his name.

"Potter, wake up. Potter! It's a dream, Potter!" Over and over the voice called out to him.

But there were more sounds. Stuttering, frightened sounds. A piercing shriek that hurt his ears. He burrowed his head in the fabric covering the beating heart. Arms were holding him, and he felt a hand awkwardly, hesitantly, pat his back. Once. Twice.

It felt good. Like…like he wasn't alone after all.

He slowly opened his eyes. Blinking, he moved his head so that he could see. It was light out. Morning. He squinted into the brightness above him.

Terror and comfort vanished as one, both replaced by shock as he looked up into the uneasy eyes of one Severus Snape. The form. Snape.

Snape.

Was holding him.

Harry started, breaking from Snape's grasp, and pushed away from him so quickly that he stumbled back onto the floor. Scrambling to his feet, he put a few more steps between himself and the still-kneeling Snape. Harry's face felt wet, and with a touch of his hand to his cheek, he realized that he had been crying. He swiped at his face with both hands, trying to erase all hint of tears.

Now completely awake, he was able to pinpoint the other previously disjointed sounds in the room.

The Dursleys – _all_ of the Dursleys – were standing at Harry's doorway. Vernon had stopped mid-stride, probably afraid to come any closer because of the likelihood of Snape being a wizard. He was stuttering. A lot. Harry couldn't quite make out words, but the man was the angry purple color that he had gotten really, really used to this summer.

Harry backed up toward the window, just in case, and stumbled again, this time catching himself before he could fall.

Petunia, in contrast to her husband, was white as a sheet. She was cowering in the doorway, with Dudley right behind straining for a glimpse at what had his parents so worked up. Catching sight of Snape, he immediately yelped, covered his behind with one hand and his mouth with the other, and ran straight back to his room, slamming the door behind him. Harry thought he heard something scraping across the floor, like maybe Dudley was trying to barricade himself in his room.

Yeah, like that would help if wizards really were out to get him, Harry managed the sardonic thought through his muddled emotions.

Snape finally rose to his feet in one motion, which set Vernon to stuttering actual words.

"You! Y-you're one of…_them_! Aren't you?" Vernon barked, looking torn between rage and a desire to join Dudley in the barricaded room.

Harry couldn't remember having seen Snape looking this uncomfortable before, but he did – he looked positively ill at ease. Harry didn't know if it was because of the Dursleys or because he had just done the unthinkable: comforted, of all people, _Harry Potter_ from a nightmare. Only then did Harry notice the dark spot on the man's chest where his tears had soaked through the shirt.

_Oh,_ _Merlin_. Harry's face heated with mortification. He had grabbed Snape, _clung _to him. To _Snape_. He tried not to think about it – which was incredibly hard to do.

Snape schooled his features, stood up straight, and addressed Uncle Vernon. "Mr. Dursley, I presume?" Snape gave a slight bow in introduction, playing every bit the gentlewizard, though his slight sneer told a different story. "Severus Snape. I am a professor at your nephew's school." He still looked intimidating despite the less-than-menacing clothing he wore. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Uncle Vernon would have already run in fear if he had been faced with Snape's customarily darker and more threatening appearance.

"I knew it! I KNEW it!" Vernon exploded and instead of addressing Snape, swiveled toward Harry. "I told you NO FREAKS! So what do you do? You go and start invading the neighborh-" Vernon broke off as his widening eyes caught sight of something to the side. Harry followed his eyes to the three owls which were still perched on and around the desk, calmly watching the humans argue. One emitted a curious hoot at the sudden quiet.

Uncle Vernon boiled over. Ignoring Snape completely, he stalked right up to Harry until they were nose to nose. Well, nearly, if Harry had been slightly taller. Harry backed up a step, which put him square into the wall, but Vernon didn't touch him, though he hissed so close to his face that he could feel the man's breath. "_I warned you, boy!_ I told you no more stick waving or birds or freakish behavior! I'll have none of this, you hear? I put up with you long enough in this house. I don't have to put up with your freak friends too! You send him and those birds packing right this minute or you can just go live on the streets for all I care! Better than you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, disturbing my sleep! _I told you_ _no more nightmares_!" Harry grimaced as he felt Vernon's spit on his face during the tirade.

He issued an automatic "Yes, Uncle Vernon," then, "I mean, no, Uncle Vernon. I mean…" Harry didn't know what to say without making things worse. But he knew he'd better come up with it fast.

Somehow he was sure that starting with, _Professor Snape has to stay inside just like me to hide from the evil wizards, but don't worry, there's only a slight to average chance he might curse you, _probably wasn't the best approach. Cursing aside, that reasoning behind his staying inside didn't work so great with Harry, and it was sure to be less effective when applied to Snape.

Snape. He was just standing there, expressionlessly watching Harry stutter like a wimp to his uncle. That was enough to make Harry straighten up to his full height. He wasn't going to look the wimp. Not with Snape, not with Voldemort, and not with his ridiculous muggle uncle.

"Uncle Vernon," he managed with more confidence than he felt, "Professor Snape came here to save my life. If I send him out now, he'll be killed." Harry didn't bother inserting that Snape was the older and more experienced wizard, so there was little chance he could force to him to do anything he didn't want to do. Anyway, Vernon Dursley hated anyone who thought they were stronger or smarter than he was. His uncle just wasn't smart enough to realize just how many people fit that description.

"Professor Snape let someone from the school know he's here," Harry continued his explanation, "and they should be coming to get him anytime. So if you'll just wait for them to –"

He couldn't finish his sentence, for Vernon grabbed him then by both shoulders and shook him roughly, screaming into his face, "YOU CALLED MORE FREAKS? TO MY HOUSE!" Vernon continued on and on with his rant, shaking Harry all the while, but Harry stopped listening. White hot flashes of pain were shooting through his shoulder, and he actually thought for a minute he might pass out. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry out.

"V-Vernon!" Petunia's voice cut through Uncle Vernon's rant. "Vernon, STOP!"

Harry felt the shaking end, and though his shoulder felt like it had been ripped from its socket, he opened his eyes, desperate for something to distract himself from the pain.

Vernon still had a tight hold on Harry's shoulders, but he was looking over his own shoulder now, at his wife. Petunia was inching along the wall toward them, terrified eyes fixed on Snape, who remained frozen in place in the middle of the room. She didn't really need to keep such a close watch – Snape's focus wasn't on her. His eyes were fixed, not even on Harry, but on his shoulder – the shoulder he had discovered injured only the night before last. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking, though his whole body had stiffened.

Petunia finally reached Vernon and Harry, then. Still not taking her eyes off of Snape, she laid a bony hand over one of her husband's and pried it from Harry's arm. "V-Vernon, l-let the boy g-go."

Harry looked at his aunt, shocked beyond all thought. She'd been kinder to him lately, sure. But she almost never interfered outright with Uncle Vernon's punishments, and this made twice in the last 24 hours. Harry didn't know what to think, and he worked hard to try to squelch an unfamiliar feeling…was it hope? No. How could it be? Aunt Petunia had never cared for him, and he'd given up longing for a mother in her years ago. He was sixteen, after all, and way beyond the age where he craved a mother's tender love…but if that was true, then why did he feel an inexplicable yearning suddenly rise within him…a hunger for something he knew he'd never have?

Dare he hope? Did Petunia maybe care for him in some way she was only now beginning to show? Even a little?

Harry looked at her, still aware of the pain in his body, but not caring anymore. He searched her face, though her eyes were still trained away from his. He couldn't see anything beyond fear. He watched her carefully for the smallest sign of…something, anything.

Vernon let go of Harry completely, turning to his wife, speechless. His face was losing some of its purple, and it occurred to Harry that Vernon was just as baffled by his wife's behavior as he had been.

Petunia whispered to her husband, quietly enough to guarantee to herself that Snape wouldn't hear. She couldn't know what Harry was all too familiar with from Potions class: that the Potions Master rarely missed anything. Harry couldn't count how many times the professor had taken off points for a whispered comment that he had heard perfectly from the complete opposite side of the classroom.

Her voice shook, even while she spoke in a whisper. "Vernon, he's one of the boy's kind. Remember what we talked about – no touching the boy while there might be freaks around. There's no telling what they might get it in their heads to do to us."

Harry's heart sank. And his head felt hot. He'd known he was a right fool, getting his hopes up like that. He knew from experience that they'd just be dashed to the ground and stomped on completely. Petunia was never worried about him – not even yesterday when she'd had him wondering. She was just worried about herself. Worried that the 'freaks' wouldn't do anything to her and her own.

And it was reinforced to him yet again that 'her own' didn't include Harry.

He was angry, but mostly he felt defeated. It had been years since he'd hoped for the impossible. The hope had felt so good. Which made reality feel all the worse.

He focused back on the happenings in the room, desperate for a distraction from his self-pity. Harry had missed whatever reply Vernon had made to Petunia, but at least her interference had served its purpose of distracting him from Harry. But Vernon was still angry; there was no doubting that. He wasn't done wanting to make a scene.

Instead of bullying Harry, Vernon focused his attention back on Snape. Perhaps the fact that the man hadn't made so much as a threat bolstered his own confidence. He raised his hand to point directly at Snape. "Out! OUT! Get out of my house this instant! I won't have YOUR KIND in my own house! OUT!" He pointed to the door then, and Petunia hopped in surprise, scrambling closer to Vernon so that she would be out of Snape's way.

Snape didn't move. He had taken in the entire scene in silence, and he now watched Vernon Dursley's yelling and wild motioning and facial color changes as if he were eyeing a dull but annoying little insect.

Snape tilted his head slightly back and looked down his hooked nose at the rotund man. He answered evenly, and rather snottily, in Harry's opinion, "I would relish nothing more, Mr. Dursley, than to depart from your scurrilous company. Nevertheless, I regret that that is not an option."

He had refused to comply. Vernon was taken aback.

So was Harry, come to think of it, albeit for a different reason. He hadn't the slightest clue what was going through Snape's mind, but knowing how nasty the man could get, his calm façade wasn't boding well. Harry was getting a little worried, and he had the feeling that he should do something, intervene somehow. But he still didn't know any better than he did earlier what to say that wouldn't make it worse. So he stayed silent.

But he considered prayer. For Uncle Vernon's benefit.

Vernon was getting flustered at being refused, so he tried another tactic. "Get out," he took a deep breath and screamed, "OR ELSE!"

Snape's eye twitched, though he merely responded with a calm, simple, "no."

Vernon's whole body screamed rage, from his dark face to his clenched fists.

The room was silent for several long minutes as the two men faced each other, one in agitation, the other with indifferent calm.

Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon didn't know what to do. He relied on his skills of intimidation to get what he wanted, and Snape quite simply refused to be intimidated. And Vernon may have been the more bulky of the two, but Snape was the taller. Even Vernon, with all of his Harry-bullying down pat, had to know that turning to physical means with a fully grown man wasn't a wise course of action.

So he glared, out of options but refusing to back down.

And Snape stared right back, calm turning swiftly to boredom. At recognizing that in Snape's eyes, Harry couldn't help but think of all of the enemies Snape had to have faced over the course of his life. Not least of all Voldemort. In comparison, Vernon probably seemed like an annoying little gnat that wasn't worth the trouble of devoting a second of time or energy to.

Harry had had enough. Little as he cared for the Dursleys, he had to do something before Vernon gave Snape a real reason to rid himself of his annoyance. And Harry was afraid to witness just what course of action Snape might choose to take. A shudder ran through him as part of his nightmare flashed through his eyes. He'd seen enough of the result of violence in his sleep. He didn't think he could bear to see more in his waking hours.

He launched himself away from the wall before he could rethink his decision and moved so that he stood between the two men. Facing Snape, back to Vernon, he forced himself to meet his professor's eyes, though he could barely do so without embarrassment flooding back through him.

"Don't," he pleaded, hating that it sounded like he was begging. Still, if that's what it took… "Don't hurt them."

Snape's eyes registered surprise as he evaluated Harry's earnest stance. He opened his mouth to speak.

Vernon beat him to it, though, swiveling Harry around by his good arm so that he was now facing Vernon. "Hurt us! What, you think I can't take care of my own family?" He shoved his nose in the air in a less subtle imitation of Snape's earlier gesture and started in on the professor again. "You can't do anything. Just you try – I'll slap a lawsuit on you before you know what hit you! Breaking and entering! And stealing for all I know. Food from my own table, no doubt, you THIEF!" Vernon was getting worked up again. Happily. Physical intimidation was discarded as he discovered the joy of legal intimidation. He rocked back on his heels, pleased with his own ingenuity.

"That's right," he continued, sure that the other man would be begging for mercy soon, "I know some of the best lawyers in the country, I do! You don't get out of my house this minute, I'll be seeing you in court!" Vernon was positively smug.

Harry was glad that he couldn't see Snape's face right that minute, and he inched a little to the side so he was dead center between the men. He didn't fancy making it too easy for Snape to reach out and choke Uncle Vernon, no matter how much Harry felt like doing it himself.

It occurred to him, then, how bizarre this whole situation was. That he would be standing guard between the two banes of his existence – one, his torturer at home, the other his tormenter at school – well, it was practically surreal.

It didn't get any less strange in the next instant, when he heard a scratching sound and a fluttering from the direction of the window. All eyes turned to take in Hedwig, who was making her way through the bars with a long, narrow box in her grasp. She immediately flew their direction, and Petunia ducked in panic as the owl fluttered by her.

Harry could feel the air change behind him as Snape stepped back to accept the package Hedwig deposited into his grasp. Her delivery accepted, she fluttered back to her cage and water bowl. The other owls hooted in welcome.

Harry ignored Vernon, who wasn't looking quite so smug after having lost his "captive" audience, and spun round to see just what Dumbledore had sent. Harry had expected something like a posse of wizards to come to retrieve Snape, not a package delivered by owl post.

Snape pulled a long, narrow wand from the box before lifting out a small slip of paper and scanning it. Raising his eyes, he met Harry's questioning glance and, to Harry's pleasant surprise, handed him the paper to read.

Harry passed his eyes over the short, direct note. There was no address, no signature. Only three short phrases:

_Temporary untraceable wand enclosed. Box is portkey. Every unusual creature deemed risky._

Harry looked up. Snape was watching him intently, though Harry couldn't imagine what he might be looking for. The note didn't give much to react to, did it? Though Harry did wonder where the portkey might send Snape that would warrant a warning about "unusual creatures."

Vernon cleared his throat, a loud, grating noise intended to bring the attention back to himself. Until he saw the wand, that is. Out of the corner of his vision, Harry saw Vernon shuffle back at the sight, only a moment before he felt his uncle grasp his arm – he bad one, this time – to pull him back with him. Harry let out a cry at yet another jostle to his shoulder.

"Put it down! Put that _thing_ down NOW!" Vernon yelled, holding Harry in front of him as a shield from whatever curse he was sure was about to be hurled his way. He was shaking, both from rage and from fear.

Snape, of course, no more listened to him about the wand than he had about anything else. His swift glance took in the terrified Petunia, purple-faced Vernon, and Harry, forcefully held within his uncle's grasp.

Harry wished Snape would just leave already. He could now. He had the portkey, and he had a wand, even. Harry couldn't stand to deal with any more humiliation than he had already in the last several days. His uncle, the room, his nightmare, and everything Snape had learned about him intertwined with the physical pain swimming through his head.

"Go!" he heard his own voice yell. "Just go!" he repeated, a smidge quieter, his pain-filled eyes meeting Snape's strangely uncertain ones. He blinked, willing his glare to harden. The last thing he wanted when the school year began was for Snape to have more pitying memories to lord over him.

So when Snape turned to the bed to gather up his stack of parchment, Harry nearly sighed with relief. One more minute, and Snape would be gone.

But Snape didn't activate the portkey.

Instead, turning back round with an unintelligible oath, he raised his wand to Uncle Vernon's eye level and pointed it straight at the large man. "I would suggest you remove your hands from your nephew, Mr. Dursley," he stated coolly. His eyes darkened, and Harry shuddered at Snape's deadly glare. He'd been on the receiving end of that glare more times than he could count, and he still hated it every single time.

Harry felt Vernon begin to tremble behind him as the full impact of Snape's threatening figure finally registered with him. It only took another second for him to shove Harry away and scuttle through the door, slamming it closed behind him. He had apparently forgotten that his wife was still in the room.

Petunia shrieked and ran for the door faster than Harry had ever seen her run in his life. It would have been quite entertaining, in fact, if he wasn't so confused about Snape's behavior. She opened it on her third shaky try and slammed it behind her even louder than Vernon had done.

Finally, there was silence.

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, and he looked at Snape questioningly.

The man merely lowered his wand and studied Harry for a moment, seemingly making up his mind about something. When he spoke, it was to issue a simple, "gather your things, Potter."

"My…things." Harry repeated, not sure if he'd really heard right.

"Yes, Potter! Your things!" Snape snapped at him. The man actually looked flustered. "Unless, of course, you would like to stay here for the rest of the summer."

Harry just looked at him, shocked.

"Alright then, if you want to stay, be my guest. I'll inform the headmaster that you are deliriously happy to spend the rest of the summer lazing about, contentedly starving in your lavish dungeon!" Snape raised the portkey, which propelled Harry to action more than hearing the actual speech. That, and the man really did look uncertain enough about his decision to change it at any moment.

Darting over to his wardrobe, Harry quickly gathered with his good arm the few wearable items of clothes he possessed and dug out his birthday presents from the corner. One was already out. Sirius' watch. Harry spun around on his knee to fix Snape with a glare.

The man was at the window, wand out, lips moving. Turning back around to Harry's accusing glare and the watch in his hands, he merely shrugged. "If you do not want your possessions disturbed, I suggest you do a better job of putting them away."

Harry snatched up the watch in exasperation and carried his pile to the padlocked trunk. And he sighed. Not because of the trunk, but because now he'd have to ask Snape for help.

But Snape saw the problem before Harry could speak and, with a muttered _alohomora_, unlocked the trunk. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to thank the man after his recent intrusion into the sentimental gift.

Those items and a couple things scattered around the room packed away, there was only one place left – his hiding place under the floorboards. Taking a measuring glance at an impatient Snape, he decided he really didn't have a choice but to reveal his hiding place. The things there were too important to leave. Plus, it wasn't likely Snape would ever be here again, anyway.

Mind made up, he got on his hands and knees and pulled up the loose floorboard. Gathering up the contents of his hiding place, he threw them into the trunk and replaced the board. A glance up showed Snape watching him with eyebrows raised. Not sure if that was good or bad, Harry hastily closed the trunk.

"I'm ready," he announced, and jumped aside as Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it in Harry's direction. A shrinking spell later, Harry's trunk was small enough to pick up and fit in his pocket.

Snape held out the portkey. Harry reached for it before he could think too much about the fact that he was going off to who-knew-where with Severus Snape, of all people. Wait. He stopped mid-reach. Suspicion filled him.

"What were you doing at the window just now?" he had to ask. Snape had been casting a spell, that much was sure. But he had a portkey already. Harry couldn't think of any reason whatsoever that would call for Snape casting some random spell at his bedroom window.

Finding no reply forthcoming, and further alarmed at Snape's satisfied air, he sprinted over to the window and looked out. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. "What did you do?" he demanded, turning around, intent on getting his answer.

Snape held out the portkey again. Harry crossed his arms, needing to know what horror he might come back to next summer.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape muttered. "Take the portkey and I'll tell you." Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he grabbed the other end of the extended wand box.

"A simple weed growth enhancer spell, Potter. Perfectly harmless, I assure you."

Harry didn't have time to react to that, as Snape muttered the word, "enemy," and he felt a familiar jerk behind his navel.

As one, the two wizards vanished from number four, Privet Drive.


	9. Layovers and Lies

_A/N: If you want to get straight to the story, skip this beginning italics section._

_Again, can't respond to all, but want to answer a couple general questions._

_**Length of story:**__ Sorry to say that right now I don't know exactly how long this story will be. It keeps getting longer in my mind. I originally planned it as a summer-only fic in order to not overwhelm myself, but if I choose to continue beyond summer, I've got an entire school year plot mapped out in my head. All I can really say is that yes, this story is still near the beginning, and that when it ends I will wrap things up, hopefully to your satisfaction._

_**Characterizations:**__ This isn't going to be a bashing fic __or__ a perfect hero fic. Approach this story with the assumption that there are no infallible characters, and the only unredeemable character is Voldemort. Good guys may just as easily be heroes as make mistakes; bad guys may stay bad or might show signs of redemption. Don't assume one or the other...just read and go with it. The one thing I will try to do is make all characterizations realistic. (i.e., if I've got a plan for a character to act in an out-of-canon way, it will hopefully not be out of the blue. There will be a reason or development leading up to it.)_

_Again, thank you everyone for all the beautiful reviews – I'm over 200 now! Wow! Every time I read a review, especially a long one, it completely brightens my day. Thank you!_

_P.S. Kudos to Kehlencrow & the-dreamer4. You are smart cookies! ;)_

_On to the story…_

**Chapter Nine – Layovers and Lies**

Harry unceremoniously landed in a heap, face down on a mound of dirt and leaves. He raised his head to see Snape's feet right next to him. _Of course _he_ had made a perfect landing_, Harry groused and hopped to his feet.

_Weed growth enhancer._ Harry grinned despite his annoyance as he brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothing. What he wouldn't give to see the Dursleys' faces when they couldn't get rid of their weeds. Ha! If it had been anyone other than Snape who'd cast it, Harry might have allowed himself to be properly impressed. He was, admittedly, surprised.

He looked up at the man now, who hadn't moved from the spot where he'd landed. Snape was looking at something beyond him, and only then did Harry hear the shuffling sounds of company. A throat cleared. He followed Snape's gaze and came face to face with a wand. Wait, there were two wands.

Were they surrounded? His pulse quickened.

"Harry!"

Harry felt his heart rate slow as he recognized the body attached to the wand.

"Remus?"

A ragged and grey-haired Remus Lupin blinked at him. He dropped his wand hand, surprise reflected in his warm brown eyes. Harry recognized the other wizard, too – it was Mad Eye Moody. There were only the two wizards, and Harry felt profound relief that he was able to identify both.

"Harry!" Remus repeated. "We were told to expect Professor Snape alone."

"It could be a trap!" Moody, who had yet to lower his wand, wasted no time in pointing out. "How do we know he isn't a Death Eater impersonating Potter so we'll reveal his location?"

"Lower your wand, Moody!" Snape snapped. "The Dark Lord already knows Potter's summer location. We've been aware of that for months. Unless you are able to assist him in overcoming the wards, I highly doubt he or his followers would be so fortunate in even obtaining the necessary ingredient for an effective Polyjuice Potion!"

"Polyjuice! Ha! So you've revealed your ploy! Disguising one of your own to look like him so we'll slip up and tell you how to cross the wards! Not likely!" Moody kept his wand pointed at Harry, though his eye swiveled to Snape. "Which means that you may or may not be Severus Snape," he growled, eyeing the strange sight that the man made, still decked out in Dudley's old clothes.

Remus intervened, asking Snape a question to placate Moody. "What curse did you use on Sirius fourth year just prior to the train leaving for Christmas holiday?"

Snape played along, though visibly exasperated, "Leg-Locker curse."

"It's him, Moody."

Moody harrumphed, but he appeared to accept that Snape was indeed who he said he was. He narrowed his suspicion to Harry.

"What form does your patronus take, Harry?" Remus asked before Moody could start in on him again.

"Stag," Harry answered automatically.

"Several people were listening last time you asked him that, Lupin! Ask him something else." Moody's eye spun around to scan the surrounding woods for anything suspicious.

Remus humored him. "What–" He stopped abruptly, eyes darkening. Harry looked around them, worried about what Remus had seen. Were there unusual creatures about? He absently reached for his wand, only to remember it was still in his shrunken trunk. He silently cursed himself for not pulling it out; he supposed he had stupidly gotten used to not having it on him.

Remus stalked closer to Harry, but instead of pulling his wand on an unseen enemy, he gently placed his hand under Harry's chin and turned his head to the side. "What happened to your face, Harry?" Remus demanded. "Who did this to you?"

Harry felt himself flush, and he pulled his chin away from Remus' grasp. He hadn't had time this morning to consider that he'd likely have a bruise on his face from yesterday. He hoped it didn't look too bad, but judging by Remus' still-dark and narrowed eyes, it might look even worse than he'd originally thought it would.

He couldn't quite meet Remus' probing gaze, but he forced himself not to duck his head like he wanted to. Although in looking elsewhere, he had to dodge two other pairs of eyes as well – one accusing, the other knowing. "Er, nothing," he mumbled, "I – I fell. Door was right there. Clumsy." The strung together words sounded incredibly false, even to his own ears. He must be out of practice. But then he couldn't remember ever having outright lied to his friends or professors before about the Dursleys. Misled, yes, but lied? He hadn't really had to. Vernon hadn't left a bruise on him – well, on his face, at least – since he'd started at Hogwarts.

"The imposter is obviously covering something up!" Moody fixed Harry with the full force of his mismatched stare. "Who are you? Out with it. Who are you, really?"

"Now, Moody. Let's be reasonable," Remus chided, though anger was still simmering in his eyes, which Harry now realized weren't even focused on him anymore. They were directed over his shoulder. He followed Remus' stare to Snape, who had left them to their exchange and was examining their surroundings.

When Remus redirected his attention to Harry, it was obvious the man didn't believe the 'clumsy' story for a second. But he dropped it. For now. Looking at Harry, anger turned into an apologetic look as he asked the necessary question: "Harry, what do you hear when dementors come near?"

Harry was taken aback at the personal query, but he could see the reason for it. It wasn't something Harry would have shared with many people, after all. He recovered quickly to answer, "my mum."

He heard "It's him, Moody," from Remus simultaneously with an incredulous, "your mum!" Snape had turned from the edge of the clearing and was looking at him like he'd gone mad. "Who in their right mind hears their _mum _when dementors come near? Lily Evans, at that!" Snape clearly didn't believe him.

Thankfully, Remus intervened before Snape could stick his large nose further into Harry's business, putting up a hand to halt the conversation. "It's him, Moody!" he repeated with an air of finality directed at Snape, even though his statement had been addressed to Moody.

Moody finally dropped his wand, muttering something about tricks and villains and how one can never be too careful. Harry noted that he still kept one suspicious eye trained on Snape, though.

Snape ignored that along with Remus's resumed glare and motioned around them. "Where is Dumbledore?" It was more a command than a question. "I have not been to this location. Has headquarters been compromised?"

Remus answered the question while deliberately moving to stand in between Harry and Snape. He stood so close to Harry, in fact, that it was kind of uncomfortable and Harry took a step back. "We've only recently started using this location as an emergency meeting place. Wards make it untraceable. The Order thought it necessary that we alternate the use of all safe houses so that if one is compromised, the likelihood of being captured is lessened."

Harry took advantage of Remus' explanation to examine their surroundings. The four wizards were in a small clearing, so small that "clearing" was actually a generous description. They were surrounded by trees on all sides, and a look above confirmed that the tall branches and leaves of the trees formed a curtain in front of the blue sky, a perfect barrier between them and any above ground surveillance.

"We've wasted enough time," Moody growled. "Lupin, you lead the way. I'll take up the rear."

Moody motioned for Remus to enter the forest first. Moody walked behind the other three, eye swiveling ever more rapidly for any hint of danger as they entered the dense woods.

Remus kept glancing back to keep an eye on Harry. He also kept a rather intently watchful eye on Snape, which the Potions Master resolutely ignored.

When they reached a stream, Remus motioned them to a narrow place for crossing. He continued with his explanation then, as one by one they stepped across to the other side. "This place is especially set up with medical supplies." He passed a glance over Snape's healthy-looking form, marred only by scratches. "Few details were in your letter. As Albus was concerned you might have sustained serious injuries, he asked Poppy to treat you. After she has seen to you, we'll bring you both on to headquarters to see Albus."

He glanced at Harry then, issuing him a reassuring smile before readdressing Snape with a coolness to his tone. "I'm sure he'll have quite a few questions for you."

Snape scowled in return, and the wizards continued in silence.

That gave Harry time for thought as they continued down a little-used dirt path through the trees. Just what would Dumbledore say when he saw Harry? He wasn't bound to be happy. Snape and Harry had both defied his wishes for Harry to stay put at the Dursleys. He also was a little antsy about facing him so soon after his horrible tantrum at the end of the last school year. Would Dumbledore take one look at him and send him right back? He felt a sudden urge to plod a little slower. It really was quite scenic. Why hurry?

Snape bumped into him from behind. "Faster, Potter. The longer we are outside, the greater the probability that our location could be compromised."

Harry reluctantly quickened his pace.

Stepping through another patch of dense trees, he finally saw a clearing ahead of them – a real clearing this time, though barely large enough for the small cottage in its midst. The cottage was built right next to a large stone wall – a natural cliff extending up into the air. The other three sides were dense woods. No one even a few steps into the trees on any side would guess that there was a clearing or a cottage only a stone's throw away.

Both Snape and Harry were ushered into the cottage before he could see any more of their surroundings.

It was dark inside. Well, not too dark, he supposed, but he'd gotten used to the brightness of the outdoors. He waited for his eyes to adjust.

"Mr. Potter!" He heard Madam Pomfrey's surprised voice a moment before he saw her. She looked just as she did during the school year, brown hair laced with gray, her matronly form ready to pounce into action for anything from a bee sting to a war wound.

Peering beyond Pomfrey, Harry could see now that there was only one worn sofa in the tiny room. A few small appliances were off to the side, which Harry guessed served as a kitchen of sorts. As they looked old and dusty, Harry wondered if this place was ever used for more than a few minutes or hours at a time.

"Well, Potter?" The sound of his name interrupted his curiosity about the two closed doors leading off from the main room. He focused his attention on Madam Pomfrey, who was staring at him expectantly. Looking around at the other three faces, all directed at him, he wondered just how long he had been distracted by his examinations of the cottage.

"Huh?" he asked blankly.

"I asked if you would like to take a seat while I examine Professor Snape." She put her hands on her hips then. "On second thought, perhaps I ought to check you over as well. Really, you seem quite disoriented."

Harry was already shaking his head. "I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks though," he added. She was still looking him over like she wasn't going to let it drop. He hastily took a seat on one end of the sofa. "Really. I'm tired, is all. A hike through the woods first thing in the morning can really take it out of you," he tried to joke. It fell flat, but she seemed reassured and focused her attention on Professor Snape.

"Come now, Professor. I've strict instructions from the headmaster to check you thoroughly before allowing you to leave." Her firm voice brooked no argument, and despite his resentful posture, Snape followed her into the back room.

At Snape's obvious aversion to being examined, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore hadn't brought Snape out to the middle of nowhere just so he couldn't refuse medical attention. _Subtle manipulation_, he thought. He wondered if maybe the sorting hat had ever told Dumbledore that he'd be good in Slytherin, too.

"I'll bring out some bruise salve for your face in one moment, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey called over her shoulder as she led Snape into the room. He heard her muffled voice giving some kind of instruction to the man through the cracked door.

Moody took up post by one of only two windows in the room, eyes out for any hint of danger. Leaving the guard duty to Moody, Remus took a seat on the couch right next to Harry. Harry braced himself for a steady stream of questions. Or for Remus to start a heart to heart. Which Harry might not have minded, if he knew it was going to be about his parents or his friends, or even about his classes. Pretty much anything but the Dursleys.

"Harry…" Remus began but didn't get a chance to delve into his first question before Madam Pomfrey bustled back into the main room with a small jar in hand.

"Bruise salve," she called out efficiently, handing it to him. "Rub a small amount on your cheek with three circular motions; that should do the trick."

"Here, Harry, let me." Remus reached over Harry for the jar, no doubt trying to be helpful. But as he closed his hand over the jar, Harry felt Remus' arm bump into his shoulder, sending a short burst of pain through his arm. He hissed through his teeth and couldn't help but scrunch up his nose.

He schooled his features, but he was a bit too late, for Remus was already demanding answers. "What happened, Harry? Where are you hurt? Who hurt you? Don't you lie to me!" He ran the gamut from demanding to concern to lecturing in the short space of time it took to ask those questions.

"I'm fine, Remus." His face was red at Remus' carrying on. Sure, his shoulder hurt, but Remus making so big a deal of it was even more uncomfortable than the pain. Madam Pomfrey, in contrast, wasn't carrying on, but she sure was looking at him suspiciously. Moody kept up his vigil by the window, thank Merlin, and hadn't said a word since they'd entered the cottage, though his eye swiveled constantly between them and the outside world.

"I…er, I guess I must've sprained my shoulder…" he explained feebly, addressing Madam Pomfrey. "I don't suppose you could…er, fix it?"

"Harry!" Remus sounded frustrated with him. "I need you to tell me right now who did this to you!" 

"Why do you assume it was a 'who'?" Harry retorted, fight flooding back to him at Remus' strict tone. "I pulled my shoulder lifting something heavy, okay? I just didn't want to carry on about it like a baby!" Well, it was sort of true, anyway. His shoulder probably wouldn't be as bad if he hadn't had to pull Snape up all those stairs when it was already sore to begin with.

Remus looked ready to continue the argument, when Madam Pomfrey intervened. "That is quite enough! Mr. Potter, allow me to take a look at that shoulder so I may bring out the proper treatment."

Harry didn't move, not sure what was expected of him.

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms across her chest. "Potter. Did you or didn't you just ask me to 'fix' your shoulder? You do realize that I need to actually see it in order to help you?" She asked her question with eyebrows raised.

Harry's face grew red again. "Erm…" he began, lacking any feeling of eloquence. "Don't you need to see me in the back room or something? I mean, isn't that where all your hospital stuff is set up at?"

Remus was visibly trying to return to his usually calm self, and he reached a hand out to place over Harry's. "It's alright, Harry. You're in the company of friends. There is no shame or embarrassment in us seeing your injury."

"Remus Lupin," Pomfrey scolded, "this boy is obviously feeling bashful about parading around half-dressed in front of your prying eyes. Come, Potter," She gestured him up and to the back room. "Let's have a look."

He wasted no time in following her to the open door, eager to get out from under Remus' well-meaning intentions. He loved Remus, he did. Almost as much as he'd loved Sirius. He just…didn't fancy giving him more to be concerned about. Harry hadn't looked for himself, but he was pretty certain he'd have a few bruises on his arms. Minor, but that wouldn't matter to Remus. Harry would never hear the end of it if the older wizard saw more to gawk at.

And there was no way he'd confess to Vernon's recent treatment of him. He knew he could trust his father's boyhood friend – that wasn't the issue. The issue was that Remus cared about him. Unlike Snape, who, despite his recent confusing behavior, regarded Harry with hatred and loathing, Remus would no doubt overreact and coddle him endlessly. Harry hated being coddled.

So he had lied, even if he did feel bad about lying to Remus.

Pomfrey led him through the door to the one bedroom and closed the door behind them. There were two beds, one against each wall, and one chair in between. A floor to ceiling cabinet with clear doors was on the wall closest to the bedroom door, and Harry glanced at the shelves of potions, salves, and other healer supplies. Remus hadn't been kidding. This place really was set up for medical pit stops.

"This way, Potter. Sit up on the bed, shirt off." She bustled over to the cabinet. "Lie back down, Professor! I haven't yet completed my diagnostic spells."

Harry glanced across the room at its other occupant. Snape was sitting on one of the beds glaring at Harry, a full blown scowl on his face. He didn't look happy at all to have Harry sitting in on his medical examination. Harry inched over to the opposite bed and sat on the very edge, as close to the door as possible.

Pomfrey stopped her assessment of the medical supplies long enough to snap again at them both. "Professor! The sooner you comply, the sooner we will be through here! And Mr. Potter. This is not a private room at St. Mungo's. I may assist you with your shoulder in here or in the main room. Just please make up your mind!"

Make up his mind…

Display his injuries in front of Snape? Or Lupin and Moody?

Harry resigned himself to staying in the room with Snape. He already knew about how they'd been caused, anyway. And he wouldn't make a fuss over him. In fact, the man looked as if he'd be pretty disgruntled even without Harry's company. He had laid back down upon Pomfrey's threat to make a full report of his behavior to Dumbledore.

Harry caught himself mid-snort at seeing Snape being treated like a child. He quickly followed it up with a pretend coughing fit after getting a nasty glare in response.

Pomfrey ran her wand in the air over the entire length of Snape's body, hmm-ing and tsk-ing all the while. Finished, she scribbled out a few notes on a piece of parchment and walked back over to the cabinet to pull out a few bottles of various sizes and colors.

"Mr. Potter!" She stood over him on her way back to Snape's bed. "How many times must I repeat myself? Remove your shirt! I may be a witch, but I cannot see through cotton!" She huffed and turned back to Snape, proceeding to administer to him doses of some of the potions.

Heaving a sigh, he pulled his shirt over his head. It proved kind of difficult, actually. He was having a hard time raising his bad arm, and he felt downright silly moving his head and torso around at odd angles to remove it one-handed. He finally tossed it next to him on the bed. At least he could be grateful that neither Pomfrey nor Snape had been watching his contortionist act.

The mediwitch kept giving Snape potion after potion to drink. Or maybe they weren't all potions – he couldn't tell. But sheesh. How many different types of medicine could one wizard need? Especially as he hadn't really been acting injured. It was kind of odd, actually, now that Harry thought about it. The man had been cursed and beaten and wounded when he'd landed with Harry, but except for that first day, he didn't really seem to be that hurt. No one could recover that quickly on their own. Was Snape just so tough that pain didn't bother him?

Or had he been feeling much, much worse than he let on that entire time? It would fit with Snape's stubborn pride. Relying on Harry Potter for anything more than absolutely necessary probably would have killed the man more than mere physical injuries.

He mentally shrugged. Well, it was just as well with Harry if the man wanted to kill himself by acting fine when he wasn't. No skin off his back.

Pomfrey finally replaced the cap on the last of the potion bottles. "Now stay put. You know very well the combination of these will need time to penetrate your entire system. Five minutes should do it." She turned around to Harry then. "Alright, Mr. Potter. Your tur-" she stopped mid-sentence with widening eyes.

Recovering quickly, she placed one hand on each hip. "Mr. Potter!" she scolded, "What in Merlin's name have you been doing to yourself? 'Lifted something heavy,' my foot!" She grabbed a few of the bottles from Snape's bedside and replaced them in the cupboard, continuing her speech. "Honestly, boys these days! Sports this, sports that, and the muggle-raised ones don't even give a thought to the inaccessibility of proper magical healing remedies."

Harry didn't know what to make of her reaction until he looked down at his arms for himself. There were bruises on both, just as he'd thought there would be. Bruises from where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him over the last couple days, and a pretty nasty one on his elbow from when he'd fallen after Vernon had hit him. They weren't all that bad, to tell the truth, hence Madame Pomfrey assuming it a result of nothing more than sports…but on the one spot where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him over and over – right near his sprained shoulder – was a series of small splotches, some a dark bluish-purple and some the reddish color of fresh bruises. They ran together so that it all looked like one huge, nasty multicolored bruise. It was hideous. No wonder his arm had been so tender every time something brushed against it.

When Pomfrey turned back around, it was to heave a thoroughly exasperated sigh. "Severus Snape! Don't make me report you to Albus! I said lie down and I mean lie down! Honestly, I don't think I've had more troublesome patients than the two of you." She threw up her hands and returned to Harry's side to perform several diagnostic spells.

Sure enough, Harry confirmed with a glance to the other bed, Snape was sitting completely up in bed again. And he wasn't lying down, even after her final scolding. He was just staring. At Harry. More precisely, at his bruised arms. His thoughts were carefully hidden.

Harry attempted to slide over so that Pomfrey would hide him from Snape's scrutiny, but when that earned him yet another scolding, he forced himself to remain still.

"Drink this, Mr. Potter." Pomfrey handed him a small vial filled with a horrible-smelling greenish liquid. He downed it in one gulp in an effort to keep the horrible substance from touching his tongue.

Ugh! It was awful. He grimaced.

Snape was still watching him, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

As Pomfrey reached for the jar of bruise salve, Harry's nervous fingers found a corner of the discarded shirt and began to fiddle with it. He didn't know what Snape was thinking, but this day was an awful mix of up and down emotions for Harry.

He should have known right when he woke up crying and screaming in Snape's arms that this day wasn't going on the top of his list of best birthdays ever. At least he was away from the Dursleys; that sure went a long way toward lending some happiness to the day. But everything else – the display his relatives had made in front of Snape, how obvious they had made it that they hated Harry, the embarrassment at having Remus notice and question his injuries – it all culminated in this never ending moment of having to just sit there under Snape's endless scrutiny, with all evidence of his relatives' hatred of him on open display.

Even knowing that Snape had seen and heard enough to know what – or specifically, who – had caused this harm, knowing the sight he must present with his limp arm and his bruises made him want to sink right down into the floor. And stay there until Snape had left.

And it wasn't even noon yet. Harry heaved a sigh.

"Alright, move your arm now," Pomfrey urged him. He lifted his bad arm slowly, carefully, and was pleasantly surprised to find it felt perfectly normal. Relieved at having the soreness of the last several days behind him, he raised it completely. And yelped at a sharp pain.

He raised his frustrated eyes to Pomfrey's no-nonsense ones. She took his not quite healed injury in stride, holding out another vial of the green potion for his consumption. "One more dose and your shoulder should be fine."

He swallowed, grimacing again at the awful taste.

"Yes, I know the taste isn't the best. Next time you decide to partake in dangerous activities, you might stop to consider how you might be hurt, Mr. Potter." She tsk-tsked.

"Erm…yeah. I mean yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'll be more careful. I promise." He managed to add a bit of contriteness to his tone and blinked his eyes a couple of times for good measure. He was relieved that Madam Pomfrey hadn't put it all together.

Contrite blinking still in effect, he locked eyes with Snape. The man probably hadn't even looked away from him, and he was issuing him a knowing look.

"Just what muggle sport did you happen to be playing when these heinous injuries occurred, Mr. Potter?" Snape apparently couldn't resist calling him on his act.

Harry's display of contriteness gave way to a glare.

Snape shrugged in a falsely innocent manner. "I do have many muggleborn students in my classes. As a teacher, I feel obligated to prevent them from participating in such injurious _sporting activities_."

"Why, Professor Snape, that is quite commendable of you!" Pomfrey beamed. "We really do need more of our professors to take an active interest in the health and safety of our students. Just think of all the injuries I tend to that could be prevented with a simple increase in education and awareness!" Her previous frustration at both of them gave way to satisfaction at the positive outcome. "No need to be shy, Mr. Potter. Please continue," she urged as she began gently rubbing the bruise salve on the smallest, lightest bruises first.

Continue? Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape's smug air. He hadn't started anything to continue – Snape had!

He scanned his mind for muggle sports, an area he didn't have much familiarity with. He hadn't had much to do with the muggle world since he was eleven, after all, and Dudley's sport of Harry Hunting didn't exactly count. He ran through the list of activities that Dudley was taking this summer. Swimming, boxing…

"Boxing!" he blurted out.

That was a sport he knew a little something about from listening to Dudley. It had to do with punching and dodging…right? It could easily explain his injuries.

"Boxing," repeated Snape.

Harry lifted his chin, daring him to find fault with the plausibility of that lie. "Yeah, boxing."

Pomfrey was nodding, though her lowered eyebrows betrayed her confusion. She obviously didn't know what boxing was, but she'd accepted it, which was all that mattered to Harry.

"Perhaps you would care to explain this…boxing," Snape continued, crossing his arms over his chest, "for educational purposes, of course."

"Educational. Yeah, sure, of course," Harry muttered in return. What was Snape playing at, anyway? Why was he toying with him? Was he planning to tell Madam Pomfrey the truth no matter what Harry said or did?

Worse than that, what if the man decided to spread Harry's secrets all around school, like he had first feared? Not that Harry hadn't ever been ostracized or made fun of…it's just that he could deal with most of the other stuff people had held over him because it hadn't been true. He didn't fancy spending an entire year with people whispering and pointing at him like he couldn't take care of himself under his own roof, with muggles, no less.

The horrible thought occurred to him that Draco Malfoy would have a field day with that information.

He took a deep breath. "Boxing…well, it's a sport with two people in a ring."

"A ring?" Pomfrey interrupted, confusion in her face.

"Well…yeah, a ring. Not a little ring, like on a finger. It's what they call a big area that's roped off. And they fight until only one is left standing."

"Fight!" Pomfrey stood, hands on hips, eyes blazing. "You got into a fight?"

"No! It's a sport, Madam Pomfrey. You throw punches and dodge them and…" He was at a loss. Pomfrey was growing even more irate and obviously didn't see a difference between regular fighting and boxing. And Harry didn't know enough about it to convince her otherwise. _He_ wasn't even convinced otherwise – to Dudley, it was an excuse to beat up other kids and get congratulated for it.

He shrugged, really not wanting to continue with the lie anymore but stuck with finishing it now. "Anyway, I guess I lost…" He trailed off.

Pomfrey huffed. "And one would hope that you learned your lesson, young man! Fighting, honestly. Don't you be getting any ideas about starting off on the wrong foot this school year. I won't put up with injuries caused by schoolyard fights!" She was furious, though her hands were gentle as she finished rubbing the bruise salve on one arm and went on to the other.

Harry fixed Snape with his most withering stare, which earned him a self-satisfied glare in return.

Pomfrey finally finished up Harry's arms, though the rubbing of the salve on the worst of the bruises had hurt. He'd closed his eyes against the pain, but it only lasted a moment, and then the bruises disappeared.

"You both lie down while I inform Lupin and Moody to prepare your departure," she instructed as she replaced the cap on the bruise salve and replaced the medication in the cabinet. "And when I return, I expect to see you both resting!" She gave a stern stare and left them alone.

Neither Snape nor Harry followed her order, of course.

"What are you playing at?" Harry demanded as soon as he heard the click of the closed door. "You know what happened – you were there!"

"Of course I was there, Potter!" Snape retorted sarcastically. "I am able to recall my own whereabouts and what I was so fortunate as to witness."

Harry felt his neck getting hot at the blatant reminder.

Snape continued, sneering now. "Do you seriously intend not to inform anyone? Not the most intelligent of decisions, is it, to keep your uncle's abuse secret only to return to it next summer?"

Harry cringed at the term. Abuse? Well, maybe it looked that way to people on the outside, and he had sure never liked the way his uncle treated him. But he'd never thought of himself as _abused_. He didn't want anyone else to think of him that way, either.

Especially not his least favorite professor.

"It's my business what I do or don't do about it, isn't it?" he grated out. "It's my life. And you can pull that 'I'm your professor' crap with me all you want, but it won't make one bit of difference – it's summer. You're off the hook! Besides, what do you know about it anyway?"

Snape looked ready to continue the argument indefinitely until that last comment; his face drained of color. Harry almost swore he saw a haunted look in Snape's eyes, though it only lasted a second.

Snape took the next moment to suddenly decide to heed Pomfrey's advice. Lying back on his bed, he snapped at Harry, "Lie down, Potter, before you put us both in danger of an exhaustingly unnecessary and thoroughly annoying tongue lashing."

"Fine!" Harry flopped down onto his back. "But just so we're clear, stay out of my business from now on!"

"Gladly," came the curt response. "However, one thing you might want to keep in mind as you lie your way through Britain, Potter. You're terrible at it. You can't even fool a fool like Lupin."

And waiting there for Pomfrey to return, Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Snape was right. How long could he go on lying before it caught up with him? Still, even knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere, he couldn't confide in anyone. Whether it was embarrassment or pride stopping him, his practical side also knew that it wouldn't change anything that had already happened.

It didn't matter, he finally told himself. Only one month and he'd be back at school with his friends and the familiarity of classes.

And nothing that happened this summer would matter at all.


	10. Hostility, House elves, and Headmasters

**Chapter Ten – Hostility, House-elves, and Headmasters **

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was connected to the floo network. Harry should know; he'd spoken to Sirius through it. And there weren't anti-apparition wards on the old house, if George's and Fred's abilities to pop in and out of rooms were any indication. Finally, if a Portkey failed, there was always the Knight Bus to drop one off if they had been told the location by Dumbledore. Surprisingly accessible, Harry thought, for being so untraceable.

So…if it was so accessible, then why were they _walking_?

Harry plodded another foot in front of the other, dark mood growing steadily worse. He wouldn't even have minded being surrounded by the four adults – Remus and Pomfrey in front, Snape and Moody taking up the rear – if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd really like to avoid every single one of them. He was getting sick and tired of the worrying looks Remus was shooting over his shoulder every few minutes. Moody was just as antsy, though not about Harry. About every ten minutes, he would make them all stop to do a thorough sweep of the area. No one seemed too happy about that, come to think of it; they all looked pretty tired of walking by now.

Especially Snape. He hadn't said a word – to anybody – since they'd emerged from the room to continue on to headquarters. His hair slid forward to hide the sides of his face from view, but a glance back from Harry had revealed just enough of his face to convince Harry to walk a little faster. Bad mood was a definite understatement to describe the dangerous look in Snape's eyes.

And then there was Pomfrey. To tell the truth, she hadn't really done anything outright irritating since they'd left the cottage. She was visibly tired, like the others. But unlike the others, she seemed content to take in the healthy hike without complaint or sulking – not to mention, without her usual scolding manner. Harry decided to be annoyed at her anyway. That she would enjoy the walk when Harry was so miserable was more than just cause for annoyance in his moody mind.

"Stop here," Remus finally called out, his hand held up to halt their steps.

Harry looked up hopefully. Moody had stopped them all the other times. Maybe now they could use a Portkey or something.

"Harry." Remus motioned Harry over to him, then placed his hands on the boy's shoulders as soon as he was close. With a brief glance at the others, he moved so that his body blocked Harry from their view, then lowered his face to look him in the eyes. "I am sending you ahead now," he began, gaze intent. "To headquarters. I must help Moody see Madam Pomfrey to safety, and then Professor Snape and I will join you. Tell the Headmaster that –"

"We can't send the boy alone, Lupin!" Moody's voice interrupted over Remus' shoulder, and Harry jumped a bit at his sudden close proximity. "Headquarters may have been compromised!"

"Since dawn?" Remus questioned lightly, eyebrows raised. "We now know why Voldemort's attacks have been sporadic of late, Moody. His concentration is on other matters. Even if his focus were on us and not on Harry, I doubt he could have waged and won an attack on our untraceable and highly protected headquarters within the space of a few hours. Certainly not with Albus there."

"We're at war, Lupin. You assume too much," Moody growled.

Madam Pomfrey piped up, "I've seen to Professor Snape's injuries. Let him go with Potter while we –"

"No!" Remus' shout caused Harry to really jump back this time. The man appeared calm, save his clenching fists and a tinge of red to his face. With a deep breath, Remus regained his normal color and continued, issuing an apologetic look at Pomfrey, who was also taken aback.

"My apologies for interrupting, Poppy. You see, the plan was for me to take Severus to headquarters only after seeing you and Moody safely to your floo departure point. Obviously, the plan didn't include traipsing through a populated area with an easily recognizable Harry Potter in tow." Here he shot another apologetic look, this time at Harry, before continuing, "Harry needs to leave us before we continue further. And while it may be dangerous for him to leave alone, for anyone to leave with him would be even more dangerous. Even a single magical transport outside the town could lead Death Eaters instantly here to investigate if they have discovered Harry missing from Privet Drive. Two or more and we may as well send up a beacon announcing our location."

The others considered Remus' words, and even Moody looked pretty well convinced, albeit reluctantly.

As for Harry, thoughts were now whirling through his head, and he couldn't hold back the questions any longer.

"Is _that _why we couldn't leave straight away from the cottage?" He directed his question toward Remus. "Because Voldemort might detect the magic and come find us?"

Remus looked reluctant to go into it, but he issued a brief nod.

"But Madam Pomfrey did magic there and no one came! Why would –"

"Really, Potter!" Snape's dark scowl said plainly that he'd grown tired of silently watching the others waste precious time with talk. "If you want to learn magical theory, you might try paying attention in class once in a while! This is not the place, nor the time, for your inane questions."

Lupin wasted no time in pulling Harry to his side – rather roughly, in Harry's annoyed opinion – and addressed Snape with a coolness to his tone. "Let the boy alone, Severus. He's done nothing to you."

"Let him alone?" Snape questioned, his lips drawn into a smirk, contrasting with his narrowed eyes. Unless Harry was mistaken, the man was amused. "Why, Lupin. You sound almost…noble." He issued the last word with a sneer.

"What would you know of being noble?" Remus calmly replied, though his hand tightened on Harry's arm. Harry squirmed a bit, tugging to be let go, but Remus' attention was still on Snape.

"What I know is that nobility is highly overrated," was Snape's scowled response. "Those who claim it are usually the least noble of us all."

"So you're a philosopher, now, Severus?"

Snape issued a mocking laugh in response. "Merely an observer, _Remus_. After all, it is your noble self who is manhandling the boy as we speak."

Snape forgotten, Lupin brought his eyes round to Harry, still squirming to be let go, and all at once loosened his grip, eyes wide in awareness. "Harry, I'm sorry," he rushed to say as Harry stepped away from him. "I didn't realize. I…I would never hurt you. You know that…don't you?" His eyes searched out Harry's.

Harry rubbed his arm and opened his mouth to give Remus an earful, when he saw Remus' face. The man looked genuinely distressed. Instead of his planned tongue lashing, Harry heard himself saying, "Course I do, Remus." After all, Harry conceded, of all people, he knew the difference between acts of love and acts of hate. Only, for some reason, Remus was going overboard with the whole protectiveness thing today – so much so that it was out of character for him.

Remus looked uncertain still, so Harry stepped closer to him to show he didn't harbor ill will. That seemed to work, for Remus issued him a small apologetic smile.

"For Merlin's sake! Will you boys _please_ stop being boys for two minutes at a time!" Madam Pomfrey was apparently through with being patient and content. She raised her voice, walking around and scolding each of the men in turn. "Need I remind you that while I may have seen to their immediate injuries, Mr. Potter and Professor Snape are both in need of rest, not to mention a proper meal? They will not be getting any of that out here in the forest!"

She crossed over to Harry then, shooing him down the path. He hurriedly complied, somehow more worried more about the consequences of disobeying her than he usually was with Snape – which was saying a lot.

"Hold up, Harry!" Lupin called from behind him only a minute later, somewhat breathless from trying to catch up to them. "You can leave from where you are."

Moody followed right behind, issuing his now familiar dark mutterings about danger and folly and sticking to formation.

"Here, Harry," Lupin handed him a small cup from the pocket of his robes, which Harry accepted. "This Portkey will take you to headquarters upon activation. The Headmaster should be there awaiting my arrival with Professor Snape. Tell him that we'll be taking an alternate route shortly."

Harry stared at the simple clay cup in his hands. "Wait…you had this the whole time? If you're letting me use this now, why couldn't I use this earlier? Why –"

"Potter!" Snape bit out, fully ready to deride him once more.

But Snape's almost-rant was cut short by Remus loudly continuing his explanation. "And feel free to talk to the Headmaster about any recent or troubling events that might be on your mind." Remus spared a last hostile glance at Snape, which was completely ignored.

Snape did suddenly look as though he'd remembered something, however, as he reached into Dudley's trouser pocket for his rolled up tube of parchment. He studied Harry for a moment before walking over to him and holding it out.

Harry hesitated, eyes on Snape's outstretched hand.

"Take it, Potter," Snape snapped. "It's for the Headmaster. Give it to him to review before we arrive."

Harry took it, careful not to touch Snape's hand. He'd already had more than enough physical contact with the man for one day.

"Alright then, Harry," Remus nodded and managed to give him an encouraging smile through his distrustful stance. "Read the inscription inside the cup. Backwards."

Harry nodded, suddenly eager to escape the many layers of hostility running through this group. Even if it did mean explaining his sudden appearance to Dumbledore.

He read the simple inscription. Straw? Harry sounded it out backwards, "W…a…r…t…s. Warts!" He exclaimed, and Remus' smile was the last image Harry saw before he was pulled away and soon tumbled head over feet into a dimly lit room he recognized as the drawing room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He raised to his knees to take it in, when all at once he was knocked back down by a small colorful projectile launched right into his stomach.

"Oof! Gerrof me!" He was flat on his back, his voice muffled by something bright and fuzzy right over his face.

The small projectile started to talk in a high, squeaky voice, "Harry Potter! It is Harry Potter, come to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy to see you, Harry Potter, sir!"

"Dobby?" Harry was finally able to raise an arm, plucking a pink and yellow knitted hat from over his face. He blew a few pieces of fuzz from between his lips. "What are you doing here?"

Dobby bounced aside to let Harry get to his feet, his own small feet hopping with excitement. "Professor Dumbledore asked Dobby to stay here for the summer, sir, he knows he can trust Dobby. I is loyal to Harry Potter and will help his friends, sir."

"But…what about Kreacher?" Harry asked darkly, his hostility toward Sirius' treacherous old house-elf flooding back to him.

Dobby's ears fell, his tennis ball-sized eyes open wide. "Dobby is hearing Kreacher betrayed Harry Potter's friends. Kreacher is being a bad house-elf. Professor Dumbledore sent him away, Dobby knows not where."

"Oh." Harry felt relief at not having to see Kreacher, even if he had been denied the opportunity to take out his rage properly.

"Professor Dumbledore told Dobby to wait here for Professor Snape. Dobby was not being excited to see Professor Snape, sir." The little house-elf's ears dropped even lower before they raised and his face brightened as he exclaimed, "But Harry Potter came instead! And Dobby is very happy now!"

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Dobby."

"Yes," came a voice from the doorway, "thank you, Dobby, for seeing to our surprise visitor."

Harry slowly raised his eyes to take in Albus Dumbledore, worried about what reception he would find. The aged wizard's neutral face didn't show anger…but his eyes weren't exactly twinkling, either. "Dobby, would you be so kind as to prepare a room for Harry? I do believe he may be staying the night."

Dobby let out a squeak at that. "Dobby is happy to be helping Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is hoping Harry Potter stays many, many nights, sir!" And with a _crack_, he disappeared from the room.

Harry lowered his eyes to the carpet as the full weight of Dumbledore's gaze rested on him.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, "Under usual circumstances, I would remark how pleasant it is to see you."

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm…you too, sir. I mean, it's nice to see you too," he lied, still studying the carpet. He heard shuffling as Dumbledore moved across the room.

"Sit, my boy. Something tells me that I am in for an interesting story. We may as well be comfortable, don't you think?" As Harry looked up, it was to see that the older wizard had taken a seat on a small sofa and was in the process of summoning two glasses of pumpkin juice and a dish of some kind of candy. He gestured for Harry to sit opposite him, on the other side of a small table.

Harry walked over to sit in the proffered chair, taking in the changes in the room since he'd last been here. It was thoroughly clean, of course, thanks to Mrs. Weasleys efforts, and much of the grimy furniture was replaced with newer and brighter things. It helped to add just a little bit of cheer to the dreary old place. Not that Harry felt cheerful right then. Memories of his outburst the last time he had seen Dumbledore, not to mention his attempts to destroy quite a few of the man's possessions, drifted through his head. He shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Dumbledore to speak.

"I trust you are doing well, Harry?" Dumbledore began, pushing the dish across to Harry in invitation.

"Er…yes, sir. Thanks." Harry reached for a piece of candy to give his nervous hands something to do. Focusing his attention on un-wrapping the candy kept his eyes from Dumbledore's for a few minutes longer.

"Excellent. Glad to hear," was Dumbledore's pleasant reply. "As you don't seem very inclined toward pleasantries at the moment, perhaps we should simply get to the point." He paused, waiting until Harry looked up to meet his eyes, then continued, "Why are you not with your relatives, Harry?"

Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice to wet his mouth. "I…um," Harry wasn't sure where to start. And then it occurred to him that Dumbledore might already know some of it. "What did Snape tell you in his letter?"

"_Professor_ Snape explained that his position had been compromised and that he was stranded at your home. He asked for safe passage back to headquarters as soon as possible." Dumbledore followed Harry's example in helping himself to a piece of his own candy. Unhurriedly removing the wrapping, he continued, "Professor Snape knows the importance of brevity in letters such as the one he sent. He mentioned nothing of you or how the two of you were getting along. Which, I admit," inserted Dumbledore with a raised brow, "gave me some degree of concern. Due to your…shared history, and knowing that the two of you were stranded together in an enclosed space, I thought it best not to tarry. And so I sent your owl – Hedwig, I believe? – immediately back to Professor Snape with a Portkey to safety."

"Oh, okay," Harry nodded, face flushing at Dumbledore's justifiable lack of confidence that the two could get along without doing serious damage to each other.

"Professor Snape certainly neglected to notify me that you would be accompanying him in leaving your aunt and uncle's house." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, obviously awaiting some kind of explanation.

"I, er, don't think he really planned it, sir," Harry explained quickly. "It just kind of happened."

Dumbledore waited a moment before prodding, "And how exactly did your leaving the safety and care of your relatives' home 'just kind of happen,' Harry?" The words could have been scolding as all get out, but he said it gently, as a matter of fact question.

Harry shifted his weight in the chair. "Er…Professor Snape was about to leave, and…um, he told me if I packed up my things, I could come with."

Dumbledore's brows shot up nearly to the middle of his forehead, and Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen the wizard looking quite so surprised. "Pardon my confusion, Harry, but allow me to reiterate your statement. _Professor Snape_ invited you to leave your aunt and uncle's home – against my instructions, I might add – to essentially spend more time in his company." He paused here for Harry's confirming nod. "And he did this on a whim?"

"Er, yeah. I guess so." Harry felt his face grow hot at Dumbledore's blatant disbelief. Harry hadn't given it much thought over the last few hours, but now that he mulled it over in his head, he found he really didn't understand it himself. Just why had Snape decided to take him away from the Dursleys? The obvious answer was that he saw how Harry's aunt and uncle treated him. But Harry wasn't naïve enough to think that in itself would cause Snape to overcome years of hatred to suddenly turn rescue mode on him. The Snape he knew would be happy to see Harry treated that way, by anyone.

So…why had Snape helped him? It just didn't make sense.

"Well then, Harry. I do see I am not the only one with a few questions over the day's events," Dumbledore remarked at observing the confusion written on Harry's face.

Harry quickly tried to school his features. He felt a pang of jealousy at how easy it was for wizards like Snape and Dumbledore to hide their thoughts when it suited them. Harry had never been able to hide what he was thinking very well.

Harry took a deep breath, just then feeling how incredibly tired he was from the morning's events. The idea of a nap sounded unbelievably good right at that moment.

Pulling Snape's tube of parchment from the waistband of his jeans, where he had put it for safekeeping, he held it out to Dumbledore. "This is from Professor Snape, sir. He didn't say what it was, only that it was for you to review before he and Remus get here." Harry hoped it would be enough to distract Dumbledore from questioning him.

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore took the parchment, and showing how astute he could be, promptly sent for Dobby to show a grateful Harry to his room so that he could rest.

The first thing Harry did after trudging up the stairs and into the room was to lay face down on the bed. He didn't even bother to take off his shoes, he was so tired. Before he knew it, he was sound asleep.

….

The sound of muffled voices drifted upstairs, waking Harry slowly from his deep, dreamless sleep. He rolled over, then promptly awoke as something sharp jabbed him in the nose. Blinking, he felt around, hand coming into contact with his glasses. He must have fallen asleep with them on, he realized, righting them back into place.

He still heard voices, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Jumping up and out into the hallway, he leaned over the banister to see Remus and Dumbledore clearly in the downstairs hallway. He ducked close to the ground so they wouldn't look up and see him.

Harry couldn't make out what the two wizards were saying – they were talking in hushed tones – but Remus was talking intently to the older wizard, gesturing and carrying on as if he were angry about something. It didn't look to Harry that Remus was upset at Dumbledore, though, just that he was upset _about_ something. Dumbledore was listening, responding in equally hushed tones, apparently trying to calm the younger man down.

Remus then gestured to a few pieces of paper which Dumbledore held in his hands. Harry squinted, trying to figure out what they were, and he thought he saw what looked to be Pomfrey's scrawl. He remembered, then, her note-taking after her examinations of both Snape and himself. A chill ran up his spine. Had she written all of his injuries out for Dumbledore's perusal? Harry was able to fool Pomfrey through sheer luck that she hadn't put two and two together. He was certain he wouldn't be able to keep the source of his injuries secret from Dumbledore's shrewd observations.

Harry heard the sound of a door opening then, and Remus stopped talking a moment before Dobby appeared from the direction of the kitchen with Snape in tow. The Potions Master looked more himself, having changed out of Dudley's clothes and into his usual dark garb.

Dumbledore greeted him, still speaking somewhat quietly, but finally in tones that Harry could hear, "Ah, Severus. I trust Dobby has seen to your appetite? Very good, very good. If you are feeling up to it, might I have a word with you?"

Snape stood silently in the hallway, only slightly nodding to show his agreement, before allowing himself to be led past a fuming Remus and into the drawing room. Harry heard Dumbledore's voice trailing off as they walked further into the room, "I have read your account of Voldemort's meeting, my boy. Thank you for writing it out for me. As I am sure you expect, I do have a few additional questions...

"Oh, and Remus," Dumbledore called back, "I do believe Harry was exhausted enough to sleep for quite a while longer. I would appreciate it if you didn't disturb his rest quite yet. Perhaps you wouldn't mind waiting for us in the kitchen?"

Remus nodded, stiffly turning back toward the room Snape had just vacated. Harry heard one door close, then another, before silence fell in the hallway once again.

He waited a fraction of a moment before he carefully tiptoed down the stairs, one eye focused in the direction of the kitchen, and approached the door to the drawing room. Placing an ear to the door, he heard muffled voices; but as before with Dumbledore and Remus, he couldn't make out actual words.

He backed up, sighing with impatience. He wanted desperately to know what was being discussed in there. Were they talking about the Death Eater meeting? About Voldemort's Plan? About the Order of the Phoenix and their plans?

Or were they talking about Harry? About Pomfrey and her examination?

Harry couldn't stand not knowing, and he just about screamed in frustration at being left in the dark. He nearly forgot to keep quiet on his way back to his room, but the thought of being smothered by a newly over-protective Remus kept him from stomping up the stairs like he wanted to do.

Opening his door a moment later, he just about shouted out in surprise at a huge pair of eyes blinking at him from on top of his own bed.

"Dobby!" Harry whispered, shutting his door quietly. "What are you doing in here? I thought you went to the kitchen with Professor Lupin."

Dobby jumped to the floor, several hats bouncing up to land perfectly back into place on top of his head. "Professor Lupin asked Dobby to check on Harry Potter. Dobby was not wanting to tell Professor Lupin that Harry Potter was not where he was supposed to be, sir." Indeed, Dobby's huge eyes looked relieved that his favorite boy wizard was safe and well.

"Oh." Considering everything that had happened today, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Remus would send Dobby to check in on him. Still… "Dobby, I don't suppose you could tell him I'm still asleep, could you? I don't really want to talk to anyone right now."

Dobby nodded vigorously before Harry had even finished. "Harry Potter can trust Dobby to keep his secrets!"

Harry grinned. When Dobby wasn't trying to save his life, he could actually do a decent job of lightening Harry's mood. Thinking over his history with the house-elf, he couldn't help chuckling at some of the memories of magical mayhem the house-elf had caused. Which reminded him…

"Oh, hey, Dobby?" Harry called out as it looked like the house-elf was about to disappear. He reached for the shrunken trunk he still held in his pocket. "Would you mind unshrinking my school trunk for me before you go? I'm still underage…can't use magic during the holidays, you know."

Dobby proudly complied, happily unshrinking the trunk for Harry before he popped back to inform Remus of Harry's restful and uninterrupted sleep.

Even as Harry lay back onto his bed to stare at the ceiling, all kinds of thoughts ran through his head about what was being discussed downstairs between Dumbledore and Snape. He felt like sulking, but where was the fun in that with no one around to see him sulking? If only he had a way to…

Harry abruptly sat up in bed. If only he had a way to what? See and hear through walls? Scrambling over to his school trunk, he shoved through its messy contents to find what he was looking for.

After only a few seconds of digging, he withdrew what was even more exciting to him now than when he had opened it last night: his very own Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Wall Watcher.

As he tiptoed down the stairs with one solitary purpose in mind, Harry Potter grinned from ear to eavesdropping ear.


	11. Behind Closed Doors

**Chapter Eleven – Behind Closed Doors**

When Harry reached the hallway outside the drawing room, he found it still gloriously devoid of people. _I should have asked Dobby to keep Remus occupied, just to be sure_, he scolded himself. Too bad he hadn't remembered the Wall Watcher in time.

Sitting himself on the lowest step – still close enough to see and hear properly, after all – he closed his eyes, removed his own glasses, and put the magical glasses in place. He opened his eyes slowly, remembering the shock he'd gotten the first time he tried them and had seen nothing underneath him. Sure enough, every which way he looked, he could see through the walls.

However, only one room interested Harry at that moment. In directing his attention to the other side of the wall to the drawing room, his eyes and ears focused on the two wizards who were already well into their conversation.

"No, Albus," Snape looked as if he had been pacing the room and had stopped mid-stride to address the Headmaster, who was seated on the same sofa on which he had briefly questioned Harry earlier in the day. "No! I have done too much. I need to be out there – _doing_ something!"

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore soothed, "I am not asking you to cease your efforts for this war. You can do plenty of good from here, after you have had time to recover – "

"Recover! I am perfectly fine, Albus!"

"Fine," Dumbledore repeated dryly. "Yes, Poppy must have been exaggerating when she wrote in her medical report to me that had you sustained multiple surface injuries, substantial nerve damage, and dehydration." He deliberately softened his voice to add, "Severus. I know how you pride yourself on not allowing your weaknesses to show, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional. But you cannot hide them from me. You are weak right now. Not broken. Weak. There is no shame in that. You must have time to recover."

Snape scowled at that, clearly not agreeing with the headmaster's assessment of his condition.

"And as it concerns the war," Dumbledore continued, "at the present time, the most important thing for you to do is to lay low. Allow Voldemort time to be distracted from thoughts of searching for you. You will be of better use in the thick of the war when his guard is down."

Harry noticed that Snape had flinched at Dumbledore's use of Voldemort's name, but he hadn't corrected him like he always did with Harry.

"I fail to see of what importance I will be to the Order sitting here doing nothing," Snape combated, "And before you suggest that I have anything to do with the training or babysitting of Potter, I should not need to remind you of the last time you forced me to work with him. I will not have my privacy trampled on again, and I will not waste my efforts with an arrogant teenager who refuses to listen to me or to learn!"

Harry bristled outside the room, wanting to tell Snape a thing or two about the man's own behavior. It was hardly mature to intentionally drop a student's potions assignment and refuse to grade it, now was it?

Dumbledore replied in his calmest tone, "I believe I have admitted to you in our past conversations that those lessons were a mistake on my part. I am deeply sorry. I had hoped the two of you would learn to put your differences aside. Forcing you to work together, however…just magnified the problem, I am afraid."

Dumbledore's eyes showed defeat. And something deeper…sorrow? Weakness? Maybe both…or neither. Harry didn't have time to dwell on it, as Dumbledore was speaking again. "If you should choose to tutor Harry again, you know how grateful I would be to you. However," he held up his hand to stay Snape from interrupting, "that would be entirely your choice. You have my word, Severus, that I will not force the two of you together in that capacity again."

Harry found himself grinning a bit at hearing that promise. Within the room, Snape looked somewhat calmer as well, though still wary.

But Harry's relief was short-lived, as Dumbledore continued, "Nevertheless, you have no need for immediate concern, Severus. I placed Harry with his relatives for his own safety. Watched by a Death Eater or no, it is still the most securely warded place for him. He returns tomorrow."

Harry grasped the edge of the step with both hands. Back? After everything he'd been through, Dumbledore was sending him back to the Dursleys? Images of tree-sized weeds and a permanently purple Uncle Vernon flew through his mind, and his hands tightened painfully on the step.

Snape moved to sit across from Dumbledore, expression inscrutable. "We had considered sending Potter to Hogwarts in approximately three weeks' time," he began, slowly. "I see no reason why we shouldn't send him on now. We would have no trouble finding a slew of eager volunteers to guard him for the duration." Snape couldn't resist a slight sneer in a jab at Harry's popularity.

The headmaster's brows rose a notch. "You are taking an interest in the boy's welfare, Severus?" he questioned.

"Of course not, Albus," Snape snapped. "He is pivotal to the Dark Lord's plans, and I merely think it the wisest course of action to keep him away from a location where he is already known to be."

Dumbledore immediately countered, "Our plan might have worked, if not for your escape and Voldemort's knowledge that you would inform us of his plans. Not only can a near-empty Hogwarts not offer him the same degree of protection as his relatives' home, but it is the first place at which Voldemort will now expect us to hide him."

"The Weasleys, then," Snape said, before Dumbledore had quite finished his last sentence. "Send Potter to stay with his mangy friend and that horrendous family of his. It is already warded to a degree, and additional wards could be instated."

Harry's grip on the step let up a bit. The Weasleys? He barely dared to hope…

"No," Dumbledore countered again, promptly destroying that glimmer of hope. "Still too risky, for reasons we have discussed before. You know better, Severus," Dumbledore scolded, leaning forward to study Snape's guarded face. "You are one of the most logical wizards of my acquaintance, and you know these arguments inside and out. What else is behind this sudden urge to relocate Harry?"

Dumbledore's voice demanded answer, and Snape met the older wizard's eyes unflinching, though he said nothing for a long moment. When he finally did speak, it was with a simple, "Nothing at all, Albus. I merely thought it important that we understood all options."

The silence was thick as both wizards held their gazes. Dumbledore clearly didn't believe the other man for a moment, but then Snape didn't appear as if he had been trying to fool him. It seemed to be his way of saying that he was done with the topic of conversation.

Harry's whole body felt tense, knowing that with the end of that discussion, Dumbledore had won. Harry would be going back to the Dursleys, whether he liked it or not.

The headmaster allowed the change in discussion, finally interrupting the silence to segue into another serious topic. "As we are on the subject of Mr. Potter," he began, still watching Snape carefully, "I had hoped to speak with you about a few details of your stay with him."

Snape slowly and deliberately placed his hands on the table before him, lacing his fingers together in a falsely relaxed position. He waited, wary eyes on Dumbledore.

"I have read Poppy's letter regarding her examination of Harry, Severus. I have also spoken with Remus. He was quite upset at her findings. In addition to a bruise on his face, he seems to have had a severely sprained shoulder and an array of bruises on both arms." Dumbledore allowed a moment before continuing carefully with his next comment, "Remus was…rather concerned that he might have received the injuries as a result of your…shared company over the last several days."

Harry had worried that Dumbledore had the information from Pomfrey, but he now nearly clapped himself on the forehead for a different reason. So _that's_ why Remus had been acting so overprotective. Looking back, he guessed he should have figured…would have figured, if he hadn't been so distracted. All the glares and hostility…and all directed at Snape.

Snape's eyes had narrowed to slits. "And what do you think, Albus?" he grated out, fury simmering in his voice.

Dumbledore studied Snape for a moment. "I think that you hate the boy, Severus. Or at least that you think that you do. You have never hidden that fact. I will also not deny that I know you well enough to discern that if properly provoked, you have the capability to do harm…to yourself and to others." Dumbledore continued without pause, though he spoke carefully, considering, eyes looking directly into Snape's. "You have a temper, Severus. I will not pretend that you don't, and you will not deny that you do.

Snape looked ready to explode with that same referenced temper.

"However," Dumbledore continued calmly, "I have put my trust in you and I believe that you will be honest with me in a matter so grave as this. If you tell me that he is incorrect, I will believe you. If you tell me that he is correct, then we shall deal with it. Together. I will not forsake you."

Snape kept his thunderous eyes level with those of the older wizard and stated clearly and deliberately, "He is incorrect."

Dumbledore did not hesitate. He nodded and placed one of his hands over both of Snape's, which were still clasped together on the table. "Thank you, my boy. I believe you." He left his hand on Snape's for a moment longer. "Thank you," he repeated, and Harry heard the relief in Dumbledore's words.

Snape stared down at Dumbledore's hand holding his own, so that Harry couldn't see his face. He continued to look at his hands even after the older wizard's hand was removed.

"Now that we have that settled." Dumbledore cleared his throat, marking the end of that line of questioning. "Poppy noted that the bruises were not all inflicted at once. The majority, however, looked at most a day or two old. Are you able to shed any light on the cause or causes of his injuries, Severus? Other than, ah…falling, lifting, or boxing, that is?" Dumbledore raised his brows in obvious disbelief of those excuses, and Harry felt his face flush. To hear his feeble excuses laid out by Dumbledore…well, it was more than a little humiliating.

"Did you see or hear anything that might explain?" Dumbledore prodded Snape, whose silent focus was still on his own clasped hands.

Harry held his breath. Snape hadn't told before when he'd had the chance. Surely he wouldn't now… _Don't tell him._ Or w_ait…maybe if he tells him, I won't ever have to go back. No. No, don't tell him. Please. It's too mortifying._ He warred back and forth with himself, so conflicted that he didn't even bother taking time out to get heated over being talked about like this.

Snape finally raised his head to look Dumbledore in the eyes and issue two words:

"His uncle."

Harry felt chilled, and his hands started to feel shaky as Snape went on. "I discovered Potter's injured shoulder the first night. He never explained how it was injured, but in light of…other events, it was obviously his uncle's doing." He stopped to allow Dumbledore to speak, but the older wizard was still, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Harry could do nothing but listen to Snape further delve into the secrets of his home life. "The following day I heard a session of verbal abuse which I can now only presume is a commonplace occurrence in that house. His uncle proceeded to hit him."

Snape paused a moment before adding, in a carefully controlled voice, "The muggle hit his own nephew firmly enough to knock him to the ground." Snape stopped then, this time not speaking until Dumbledore responded to his revelations.

"And…that was the only time you saw or heard…anything," Dumbledore said quietly, sadness lining his features.

Snape hesitated before admitting, "No." His rigid posture clearly communicated that he did not want to continue, but after a glance at the headmaster's imploring face, he did. "I am under the distinct impression that in addition to the aforementioned abuse, his relatives work him, starve him, lock him behind bars, and who knows what else. They do not appear opposed to using any or all of these punishments especially in response to the slightest mention of the magical world."

Dumbledore let out a deep breath. "I am sorry that you had to be there, child. It can't have brought up happy memories for you."

Snape brushed the comment aside, altogether too quickly. "Did you know?" he asked, leaning forward a bit, eyes intense. "Did you know that your golden boy lived in an abusive home?" he demanded.

Harry, still feeling shaky, flinched at hearing the term "abuse" yet again from Snape's lips. He hated it and hoped Dumbledore wasn't going to start to see him that way. Abused implied weak, thought Harry. And he wasn't weak.

Dumbledore sighed and slumped slightly into his seat. "Harry has never known love as he should have in that house. I did what I thought I had to in sending him back there – in keeping him safe from greater evils. Despite his relatives' neglect, I had never seen proof of physical violence. I had truly convinced myself that Harry would be fine during the summers. Not ecstatically happy, of course, but fine. They are his family, after all."

"Yes, because we all know that families never hurt their own," Snape sneered, sarcasm lacing his words.

"Yes," Dumbledore eyed Snape with sorrow-filled eyes, "Yes, you would know that, wouldn't you, Severus?"

"This isn't about me," Snape replied quickly in rejection of the direction the conversation was taking.

"To the contrary, this _is_ about you. After all, you are the one who chose to take Harry from his relatives' harm."

"I was the one who happened to be there. Do not make me into Potter's shining hero, Albus. I care nothing for the boy. That has not changed."

"And yet you helped him."

Snape's glare was nearly worse than his sneer. "You never desist in your foolish quest to find the so-called 'good' in people, do you, old man? Don't try to pick me apart. I refuse to be psychoanalyzed so that you may imagine light where there are only shadows."

Dumbledore leaned back, unfazed. "We both know the horrors you have faced, and I'll not force you to rehash your past–"

"That's settled, then," Snape interrupted, but Dumbledore wasn't about to be deterred.

"_However_," the headmaster firmly stated, "for some reason unbeknownst to Harry, you chose to help him instead of leaving him to be harmed further." The corners of Dumbledore's lips rose a bit, and he softened his voice so that Harry had to strain to hear. "For which I am proud of you, child. I recall a moment not so long ago when you questioned whether, if the time came, you would make the decision to help a friend – far less a self-proclaimed enemy – in need. You have always been a great wizard; here is proof that you are becoming a great man."

Snape winced as though he suffered a physical pain, and his face whitened beyond his usual pallor. After a moment, he spoke, in a pained hiss, "Are you really so mad, old man, as to think one indecisive – truly, one inconsequential – moment can tell the true nature of a man? Or, dafter still, that even a lifetime of those moments is capable of atoning for having committed the worst of all sins?"

"What happened to your father does not define you, Severus." Dumbledore's immediate answer was stern, yet loving. "What you do today, right now…_that_ is what defines you."

Snape's skepticism showed on his pale face, though he made no move to argue. He looked down to the table, his black hair falling forward, hiding his face from Harry's view.

Both wizards sat in silence for several long moments, which was fine with Harry, as it gave him time to think. He hadn't expected the personal turn of conversation, and he shifted uncomfortably, even though he knew neither wizard could see him.

The thought drifted through his head that it was the first he'd heard mention of the Potions Master's family. He wasn't so sure he liked the thought of there possibly being more greasy-haired, hook-nosed Snapes out in the world. But beyond that…and beyond being relieved that they'd stopped talking about Harry himself for a few moments… What was this "worst of all sins" that Snape seemed to think he had committed? And what did it have to do with Snape's father?

Harry felt a chill run through his entire body as he came to a familiar thought. Snape had been a Death Eater. He had probably tortured, killed, and done loads of unspeakable things in Voldemort's service. What sort of horrible atrocity could he possibly have committed that would overshadow all of that to become his self-described "worst sin"?

Harry all of a sudden didn't want to know.

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the two men before removing the Wall Watcher from his face. He was supposed to be getting answers by evesdropping, not more questions!

He sat another minute, mind reeling from the rest of the conversation he had just heard. Most importantly, the fact that Dumbledore _knew_. Snape had told him…about Uncle Vernon…about everything. How would he see Harry now? But more importantly, would he still send him back to the Dursleys? Harry felt an unbidden flash of anger directed at the older wizard, then. Of course he would send him back! He'd sent him back before, hadn't he? Sure, he hadn't known quite as much…but he'd known plenty of other stuff, and he'd always sent him back!

Harry finally headed toward the kitchen, stopping short of the door to get his anger under control before facing Remus. One deep breath. Another. And another.

He forced his mind onto other things…like the fact that Dumbledore had promised not to make Snape and Harry work together again. _That_, at least, was good news. It almost, partly made up for being made to go to the Dursleys. The relief of hearing Dumbledore give his word to not pair him up with Snape for lessons again helped combat his anger at the wizard for other things.

But still…there were simply too many questions and secrets and not enough answers, and Harry felt a headache coming on from thinking too much about them. Sighing, he tried to push the thoughts from his mind as firmly as he pushed open the door to the kitchen.

"Harry!" He was greeted right away by Remus' welcoming smile. The man had turned quickly from the kitchen table, where it looked like he had been working on something. Harry couldn't tell what exactly, as Remus had positioned his body directly in front, in an obvious attempt to hide whatever it was.

Harry couldn't help himself – he craned his neck to get a look at yet one more secret someone was trying to hide from him. But Remus moved his body to block him still.

So he glared. "What are you hiding, Remus?"

"Why, nothing, Harry," Remus answered quickly, still smiling in the face of Harry's suspicion. "Please have a seat. I'll just clean up my meal and –"

"I'm not a little kid, you know, I'm sixteen. Whatever you're hiding from me, I can handle it." Harry crossed his arms in a gesture to let Remus know he wasn't going to be put off.

Remus's smile didn't falter. "Of course you can, Harry. Tell you what – why don't you have a bite to eat while I clean up here, and we can talk about this later?"

Harry felt his headache worsen, along with all of his frustrations and anger…toward Snape and Dumbledore and Uncle Vernon and Voldemort…and every other person in his life who conspired to betray him in some way. Anger at secrets and hidden motives and adults treating him like he was nothing more than a child…all of it came rushing through him all at once, tiredness and frustrations pored out in a tirade directed right at the only person in the room – Remus Lupin.

"Damn it, Remus!" Harry shouted, temper taking over completely, "Why doesn't anybody ever think to tell me what's going on? I do have a stake in this war, you know! Maybe – oh, wait, maybe it's that Voldemort KILLED MY PARENTS! Or maybe, just maybe, THIS SCAR THAT MAKES ME WATCH HIM TORTURE AND KILL PEOPLE! OH, AND FEEL HIS ENJOYMENT OF IT ALL! YOU EXPERIENCE WHAT I'VE HAD TO GO THROUGH, THEN JUST TRY AND TELL ME I DON'T DESERVE TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Harry was seeing red, his vision clouding in on him, he was so angry at it all. So angry that when Remus reached out a hand to calm him, Harry jerked back. "NO! DON'T YOU TRY TO PLACATE ME LIKE A LITTLE CHILD! I DESERVE MORE, REMUS! I DESERVE MORE! SIRIUS WOULDN'T HAVE TREATED ME LIKE THIS! HE WOULDN'T HAVE–" Harry stopped on a choked sob, and sudden humiliation ran through him as he realized he was on the verge of crying.

Here he was screaming that he wasn't a little kid, and he was about to cry like a baby.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, forcing himself past the danger point. He jerked back at another attempt by Remus to reach out at him. But he stayed silent this time, biting his tongue at another angry tirade.

Remus didn't try to touch him a third time. "Harry…" he began tentatively, continuing when Harry didn't interrupt or explode at him, "I…I'm sorry. I didn't realize you felt so strongly. I…didn't mean to compound the issue for you, I assure you."

Harry opened his eyes to warily take in Remus. The man looked even older than usual, face drawn in sadness and shock. He seemed braced for another outburst at any moment, and Harry felt his face heat more.

"I…" Remus paused before finishing his thought, and stepped to the side to reveal what he had been hiding from Harry's prying eyes. "I was going to surprise you later, Harry. I know you've had a rough couple of days… Anyway, happy birthday, Harry."

Harry deflated. His anger, frustration, and steam left him in an instant, replaced by the worst sort of humiliation he had ever felt. There, on the table near where Remus had been sitting, was a small, half-decorated birthday cake. "Happy Bir" was clearly written on its top, where Remus had been in the middle of finishing the words with a few waves of his wand.

Harry barely made it to the table to sit opposite where Remus still stood by the cake. His legs wouldn't hold him up any longer, and his stomach felt about to lose its contents…although luckily, it didn't have any. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. _Oh yeah, last night. Mrs. Weasely's package_, came the fleeting thought. He supposed the thought of sleep had overcome any thoughts of food. And now, hollow stomach or no, actually having a meal had never sounded so unappealing.

Folding his arms on the table, he dropped his heavy head to rest on them. Here he had just chewed out Remus, when the kind man had done nothing more than remember his birthday.

He was the worst kind of insensitive prat.

"I'm sorry, Remus," he groaned, voice muffled by speaking into his own arm, "I shouldn't have…I mean, I didn't mean it, not really. Not at you. I…I'm just so sorry."

This time, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he didn't jerk away. The hand rubbed slow, small circles on his back, and a weight settled in the chair next to Harry.

"It's alright, Harry," came Remus' slow, soothing voice. "I knew you must have had a rough couple of days. I suppose I underestimated quite how rough."

Remus continued to rub Harry's back, which helped considerably with the physical ache he felt at his horrible gaffe. They sat like that for a while, the calming hand on Harry's back and the heavy ache of his head lulling him into a not-quite sleeping, yet not-quite awake state.

He was barely aware in his drowsy mind when the rubbing of his back stopped, though he felt the coldness in its absence.

And he didn't know how long he had been sitting there before he heard the clanking sounds of utensils against dishes, and finally a soft voice near his ear calling him by name.

Figuring it wasn't likely he'd be able to pretend for long that he didn't hear, he slowly lifted his head. But he was careful to avoid eye contact with Remus.

"Here, Harry. Eat," Remus ordered softly as he pushed a bowl of some sort of stew in front of him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. His stomach still felt upset, but he latched onto the spoon for no other reason than to have something to do under the attention he felt directed at himself.

The room was quiet for a few long moments, save for the sounds of Harry's spoon on the sides of his bowl. As conspicuous as Harry felt at first, he started not to care so much about that as the food started to hit his stomach, which rumbled in demand for more. He briefly wondered if the ache he'd been feeling was entirely nerves or if it had more to do with lack of food. He spooned faster, as the full awareness of his hunger hit him.

"Whoa, Harry!" Remus slowed Harry's hand with his own, a hint of laughter in his voice. "You'd think your family never fed you!"

Harry couldn't help but swivel his head around at that. Had Remus figured things out? But Remus' eyes only showed amusement. He didn't know.

Harry sighed and took another bite of food, quickly, before Remus started asking him any more "real" questions.

No such luck.

"Harry, you do know you can tell me anything, right?" Remus began, in his gentlest tone.

He waited for an answer, so Harry gave a simple nod and returned to his food.

"I mean it, Harry. Whatever you need to say, you can tell me the truth. The headmaster and I won't let anything happen to you, you know…"

"Um…yeah. I know, Remus." He cast a helpless glance around the room for something to distract Remus from his line of questioning, but he could think of nothing save running straight out the door. And that wouldn't exactly help with easing Remus' concerns.

"Harry…" Remus took a deep breath and let it out, leaning forward. "Severus may be a professor at your school, but that does not give him the right to harm you. You must be honest with me so that we may prevent it from happening again."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. He couldn't let Remus think what he thought had happened, but that would involve telling him the truth. And he couldn't let him know about that, either. It was horrible enough that both Snape and Dumbledore now knew.

"Harry," Remus was more intent at seeing Harry's indecisiveness, "What did Severus do to you? What happened? I'll protect you, I swear. Just tell me."

Harry tried, he really did. He even opened his mouth again. But he couldn't. He just couldn't bring himself to admit to his father's only remaining true friend that he wasn't strong enough to stand up to his muggle uncle. So he shut his mouth, drawing his lips into a tight line. And he could feel, more than see, Remus' frustration at his refusal to cooperate.

"Having trouble speaking, Potter?" A sneer brought both wizards' attentions to the doorway of the kitchen, where Snape now stood, moving to enter. "I would think that your tendency to think only of yourself would make an offer of protection highly motivating."

Harry grimaced at what Snape had heard, or rather, _not_ heard. After all, by keeping silent, Harry was letting Remus continue to believe that Snape was behind his injuries.

A belief which was turning Remus a darker shade than Harry had ever seen on the usually calm man. The man didn't respond to the taunting, but probably only because Dumbledore entered the kitchen a few moments after Snape.

The two men took a seat at the table, directly opposite where Remus sat with Harry. The tension in the air couldn't have gone unnoticed by Dumbledore, but he apparently chose to ignore it, as he pleasantly started right in, "Well, Harry, as I must be off soon, I think it necessary that we discuss your living arrangements for the remainder of the summer."

Harry glanced at the older wizard through carefully guarded eyes. Was this where he would be told that he was heading back to the "care" of the Dursleys? He managed not to glare…though just barely. But as he didn't know what to say, he took another bite of the now-cold food.

Dumbledore went on, "After speaking with Professor Snape, it has become clear to me that it is not in your best interest to return to the home of the Dursleys."

"It's not?" Harry looked up again, taken aback. He'd prepared himself for the worst, not for the best.

"It is not," Dumbledore confirmed, a reassuring smile in place. "Instead, we have decided that you will be staying here."

"Here," Harry repeated, still absorbing the fact that he wouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys after all. As it fully hit him, he felt the sudden urge to laugh. He grinned instead. "All summer? Until school starts? How about Ron and Hermione? Can they come to stay too?"

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as he held up his hand. "Yes, you will be staying here until the beginning of the school year. As for your other questions, I do have it on good authority that your friends will be in residence toward the end of the summer. Until then, you are free to correspond with them as often as you wish."

Well, not a bad trade-off, considering everything. Harry felt truly happy for the first time since he'd opened his birthday presents during the previous night.

"You may stay in the room which Dobby was so kind as to prepare for you," the headmaster continued. "And you may spend your days in any room that you wish, with a few exceptions." He waited for Harry's nod of acceptance before elaborating, "Firstly, this house is still used for the occasional Order meeting. You are not to attempt to attend these meetings unless I give you express permission to do so. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded slowly, considering. He wanted to be honest, and he honestly knew that his need to know what was going on all the time would make that rule incredibly hard to follow without argument. But then, he didn't really have a choice. As Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a more definite answer, he said, "Yes, sir. I understand."

And though Dumbledore gave him a knowing look, which caused Harry to flush slightly, he moved on. "Secondly, you are not permitted to enter Professor Snape's sleeping quarters or his temporary laboratory at any time without his permission."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Sleeping quarters?" Until then, he'd completely forgotten the portion of the overheard conversation about Snape staying at Grimmauld Place.

But his question was overshadowed by Remus, who had instantly risen to his feet. "_He's_ staying here? With Harry! Albus, after what he–"

"Please sit down, Remus," Dumbledore cut him off gently. Though somehow even the powerful wizard's gentle words carried quite a bit of force behind them.

Remus sat, though he wasn't through arguing. "Albus, how can you even think of leaving Harry alone with him? He makes it clear every day how much he hates Harry! How can you possibly think this a wise course of action?"

"Worried you won't be around to save him from my evil ways, Lupin?" Snape apparently couldn't resist taunting his accuser.

Remus looked even angrier than before Harry had ever seen him before, and Harry shuddered as he was actually reminded of Remus' werewolf self ready to strike.

"Severus," Dumbledore scolded with the one word, then redirected his attention to Remus. "I have spoken with Severus about the concerns you were diligent in bringing to my attention. He has answered them to my satisfaction, and there will be no more discussion on the matter. You will need to trust me in this, Remus."

"I do trust you, Albus. I believe the issue that we have established is that I do not trust _him_." Remus pointed at Snape, who, while sporting a sneer, remained stoically silent after Dumbledore's brief scolding.

"He has done a great many services over the years, not only to the cause of the light, but for myself personally, and I am truly grateful," Remus continued fervently, "but I know what I saw, Albus! Harry did not come by those injuries by falling. Someone did that to him, and Severus Snape, who time and again announces his antagonism toward Harry, was the only one with him for the past several days!"

Remus had raised his wand to point it at Snape, and before Harry had time to react, Snape followed suit, brandishing his wand and standing to face Remus. All Harry could do was stare at the standoff between two very angry wizards.

"Gentlemen!" Dumbledore boomed. "Put your wands away! And sit! There is no need to resort to violence."

"No nee– Albus, that is the whole point!" Remus shouted, exasperated, wand still pointed at Snape, "_He_ resorted to–"

"No, he didn't!" Harry found himself yelling.

All other talking stopped, as three pairs of eyes turned to him as one. Harry blinked back at them, not knowing what to say next. All he knew was that this was ridiculous. He hadn't meant for things to get blown so out of proportion when he'd fudged over his injuries with Remus.

"Harry?" Remus asked cautiously, inquiring eyes turned from Snape to train on him.

Harry cast a helpless glance at Dumbledore, though he realized as he did that even though he knew that the headmaster knew about Uncle Vernon now, the older wizard didn't know that _Harry_ knew that he knew…or, well…it was something like that…

All Dumbledore did was issue him a small encouraging smile. And Snape stayed silent, still in his dueling stance, but carefully watching Harry. They both seemed to be letting him decide whether to tell Remus the truth.

He took a breath. Well, he hadn't much choice now, had he?

"Um…maybe you could sit down, Remus?" All this towering threateningly over him wasn't going to help with what he needed to say.

Remus sat, not speaking, attentive face letting Harry know that no matter the truth, he'd be there for him. Harry felt his heart warm at realizing that he already knew that. Too bad it didn't make this any easier.

Snape chose that moment to sit as well, pocketing his wand. Harry met his eyes for a second, but they were carefully unreadable.

He cleared his throat, putting it off for just another moment, then plunged right in. "Er…well, look. Sna – er, Professor Snape didn't do anything to me. I mean, we all know he hates me and all." He thought better than to add that the feeling was mutual or to glance at Snape right then. "But…um, he didn't hurt me in any way, I swear."

Harry took another breath to organize his thoughts, then blurted them out in a rush of words. "I was making breakfast, see, and Professor Snape showed up all injured and unconscious, and I had to hide him, and I forgot about the food and burned it, and when Uncle Vernon found out, he wasn't exactly happy and he sort of yanked my arm."

He searched Remus' face for a reaction to his speedy explanation, but he found only more confusion. After a moment, Remus narrowed his response to the focus of conversation. "Your uncle? 'Sort of' yanked your arm? Harry, Madam Pomfrey listed your arm as 'severely' sprained! And the bruises! And what about your face?" Remus' puzzlement with the whole situation clearly shined through in his every word.

Dumbledore and Snape remained silent, letting Harry control the conversation, so he took his cue from them and only addressed Remus. Who by now only looked confused.

"Well, maybe he was more than a little upset about the food," Harry admitted reluctantly. "It…um…kinda hurt. And then I had to get Professor Snape up the stairs before they found him. He's not…er, exactly light. It was after that that it really started to hurt…" Harry trailed off, deciding that this explaining every little instance was too excruciating and tedious. Especially with the three older wizards just sitting there, staring at him. Maybe it would be better to just get it all out.

So he did, ignoring his overwhelming desire to keep it secret. "Look, Remus, it was all Uncle Vernon, okay? That wasn't the first or last time he's yanked me around like that. And he gave me the bruise on my face, too. He was mad that I hadn't finished my chores, and things sort of…escalated."

Remus opened his mouth to speak and promptly closed it, only to repeat his attempt to speak. He finally managed, "Esc– Harry, what do you mean…escalated?"

Harry cringed. Remus wasn't shouting, but Harry sure felt like he was.

Remus' face dawned understanding at Harry's uncomfortable silence. "Your uncle hit you? And the – the rest of the bruises?"

Harry didn't trust himself to speak further with all eyes on him. Instead, he nodded, studying his hands on the table to distract himself from his discomfort. He was acutely aware when the other two wizards rose from the table to exit the kitchen, leaving him alone with Remus. He breathed a little easier, grateful for the more private conversation.

"Harry…"

"It's okay, Remus. Really," Harry regained his voice and rushed to stop whatever coddling was about to occur. "It's not like I'm messed up or anything because of it. It happened, and it's over. I'm fine," he finished firmly.

Remus looked as though he thought Harry was anything _but_ fine. The man spoke through clenched teeth to question, "Was this the only time something like this has happened, Harry? Or…has it…has he…?" He trailed off, gesturing feebly with his hands.

Resisting the urge to run from the room, Harry looked up to meet Remus' horrified gaze. He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion roll over him at this never-ending day. "Does it really matter, Remus? I mean, it's not like they beat me or anything. It was just a slap for not finishing chores, that's all."

"Just!"

"Yes, just! Look, I appreciate your caring about me and all, Remus, I really do." Harry tried to soften his darkening tone to show he really was grateful, "It's just…I'm really okay. I'm not a little kid anymore – I know the difference between the way things are and the way they're supposed to be. Only…things don't always work out the way they're supposed to or the way you wish they would, you know?"

Remus' face told that he felt as defeated as Harry. "Yes, Harry," he sighed, "I do know. I would do everything in my power if only I could see your father one more time. And Sirius, my friend…to find him, only to lose him again…" Remus' voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat. "But they're not here, Harry, and I know that nothing I can do will change that. Accepting death is a part of life. Accepting abuse, however, does not have to be," he stressed, fervent emotion in his brown eyes.

Harry squirmed under his sharp gaze.

Remus brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, breathing a heavy sigh, before continuing, "Harry, look. I've been doing a lot of thinking this summer, going through some of Sirius' old things… I know how much he meant to you, and how much it meant to him to come to know James' son. I…just want you to know that while we may not be as close as you and Sirius were in the end, I do care about you. I'll always be here for you…should you need anything."

Harry nodded, swallowing against something oddly large in his throat. Hearing out loud that Remus cared about Harry… It made him feel nice inside, even through all the other emotions churning around.

And he came to a sudden realization then, taking in Remus' words, intense gaze, and recent out of the ordinary over-protectiveness. It was an insight Harry that somehow just _knew_. Harry was grieving Sirius, yes, but he wasn't doing so alone. Remus was grieving in his own way. A way which apparently included a need to take over the most important role his two best Marauder friends had left behind…that of parenting Harry.

Even if Sirius _was_ more of a friend than a parent…

Harry liked Remus. He really did…he loved him, really. So he couldn't understand why the thought of Remus wanting to take on that role made him feel so conflicted. He should be happy to have someone wanting to take care of him…right?

So why didn't the thought make him happy? Or content, at the very least?

"Remus…" Harry cleared his throat. He had a lot to think about, but he needed to say something; Remus was just watching him, waiting for a reply. "Thanks. I mean it, really, thanks. My dad and Sirius…they were lucky to have you for a friend."

"You're welcome, Harry. And thank _you_." Remus smiled and reached around to pat Harry on the shoulder. "I'll be leaving shortly to accompany the headmaster on a few errands for the Order. Will you be alright until my return in a couple days?"

Harry felt the urge to point out that he'd managed alright so far without Lupin checking in on him, but he thought better than to spoil the first completely calm moment he'd had with the man all day. So he nodded in the affirmative and left it at that.

"Good," Remus smiled, rising from his chair toward the pantry door, "Now, I do believe we have a birthday cake to consume, do we not?"

Harry grinned as his stomach rumbled loudly.

Remus set the birthday cake on the table in front of Harry, and with several flourishes of his wand, completed the decorating he had begun earlier, complete with sixteen burning candles, floating just above the cake so as not to ruin the frosting.

Harry looked to Remus, who made him wait until he had told the other wizards they could return, and with Remus, Dumbledore, and a reluctant Snape gathered around the table, he finally blew out all sixteen candles in one breath. Well, maybe in two breaths.

It was Dumbledore, with twinkling eyes, who congratulated him first with a jovial, "Happy birthday, Harry!"

And it was Remus who said it second…and last.

The third guest at Harry's impromptu birthday party didn't appear nearly as happy to be "invited," and as soon as Remus set to cutting the cake with a spell from his wand, Snape excused himself to Dumbledore and swept out of the room.

That suited Harry fine, of course. He could only hope that Snape would be just as reclusive in the following weeks. But he really didn't want to think of the close proximity he would be sharing with the man. For now, it was his birthday. Dark thoughts and worries involving Professor Severus Snape would have to wait.

He turned back to Remus and Dumbledore, thankful for their smiles and this reprieve from questions and the day's emotional toll. Yeah, he had pleasanter company to think about. And pleasanter things, he grinned to himself as he bit into a delicious piece of cake.

And just as chocolate eased the effects of dementors, Harry chased away thoughts of uncles and Potions Masters with his very own chocolate birthday cake.

…

_A/N: Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think so far!_


	12. Dead Smelly Toads

**Chapter Twelve – Dead Smelly Toads**

"_Crucio!"_

_The useless servant fell into a heap at his feet, begging for mercy as only the most pathetic of his followers would dare to do._

_Rage seared like fire through his veins._

_The Dark Lord knew hate. He hated muggles, muggleborns, and blood traitors…and he hated anyone who thought they could best him. Truth be told, he even hated his own Death Eaters. In the years before he returned, they had achieved nothing. Not that he would have expected them to – they were weak. They needed a strong master to guide them...and to discipline them. _

_He watched his servant writhe under the force of another curse._

_This hatred was different. This hatred he felt with his entire being, from the core of his malevolent heart. This hatred was directed at the boy – the ridiculous child who continued to elude him at every turn. The boy in whose blood contained the key to his own rise of power, but in whose mysterious scar was rumored to hold the key to his downfall._

_He cast another curse, harsher now, as though it were directed toward the very object of his hatred._

"_You let the boy escape," he hissed angrily at his servant. The rage intensified. "YOU LET HIM ESCAPE!"_

Harry sat abruptly in his tangled bed sheets, hands clasped over his searing scar. His chest was heaving in quick breaths, his shirt soaked in sweat, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

Grimmauld Place. Upstairs bedroom.

He breathed slower, gaining his bearings, and lay back, open eyes focused on the darkness around him, illuminated only by the moon. It was nowhere near dawn by the looks of it.

Apparently, Voldemort knew he was gone from Privet Drive. Harry felt a wave of anxiety at that, but it was only a matter of time, after all. And Dumbledore had assured Harry before he'd left that he would be safe here.

Safe.

With Snape.

Sure.

Dumbledore and Lupin had stayed long enough a few nights ago to finish their small celebrations and run through the list of rules again with Harry.

Order meetings prohibited. Check.

Snape's space prohibited. Check.

And a third rule, added by Dumbledore for extra measure: Snape was in charge. Harry was not.

Check.

Not that the rule was unexpected, of course. Snape was the adult and the professor, after all, not to mention a member of the Order. Still…before Dumbledore spelled it out like that, though in an admittedly gentler way, Harry had imagined he might be able to have a bit of a holiday in this old house. He had his wizard things back, more than a dingy old bedroom of Dudley's to wander around in, and deliciously filling food at his beck and call. He even had Dobby for company. But after Dumbledore's last rule, all he had imagined were visions of ridicule and detentions – of course, seeing as it was summer, Snape wouldn't call them that. They would be 'sessions of consequences for daring to be alive.' And each time he envisioned different ways Snape could find to torture him, his spirits had sunk lower.

Despite still feeling a smidgeon of his earlier relief, he hadn't been all that sure that Grimmauld Place with Snape was a better place for him than Privet Drive with Uncle Vernon.

As if to prove the accuracy of Harry's thoughts, he'd barely sat down for breakfast the first morning of their stay when Snape had stalked into the kitchen, crossed his arms in his most foreboding stance, and launched directly into a lecture without so much as a greeting: "As we are forced yet again to endure the unfortunate circumstance of sharing a roof, you will abide by my rules. Unless directed otherwise, you will confine yourself to any room where I and my belongings are not present. There will be no wandering the house at night. No inane attempts at magic, heroics, or contacting your dunderheaded friends by any way other than owl post. No running through the house, no loud or otherwise disturbing antics, no complaining about lack of sufficient entertainment, and no talking back to me when I issue you a direct order. Disobedience on any one of these points will be met with scrubbing caldrons and disemboweling toads for the remainder of your 'holiday'." He paused from his long speech to look Harry directly in the eyes, "Are we clear, Mr. Potter?"

Harry had barely muttered a disgruntled, "yes, sir," before Snape had spun on his heel and stalked right back out of the kitchen.

That was three days ago, and Harry had yet to hear Snape say one more word to him. In fact, he'd barely seen a glimpse of the man. Snape had apparently decided to hole up in his potions laboratory and pretend that Harry didn't exist for the duration of their stay together.

Not that Harry was complaining, really. A happy side effect of being ignored was that Snape hadn't given Harry one single order…well, other than the dozen first ones, which all basically added up to staying out of the man's way.

So Harry spent his first couple days exploring the house, playing against himself at wizard chess, and even flipping through some of the books in the house. By the end of the second day, he was completely bored. And lonely. No one else had entered the house since Lupin and Dumbledore had left, and Snape kept Dobby constantly running back and forth obtaining potions ingredients or doing odd chores for him. Which left Harry without even the company of the little house-elf.

He heaved a sigh, and, deciding these thoughts weren't getting him anywhere and it wasn't likely he'd be getting any sleep with his scar still prickling, he pushed his blankets aside and plodded toward the door in his Dudley nightclothes. Of course, these castoffs he actually didn't mind so much – they were large, but that made them kind of comfy.

To his surprise, when he opened his bedroom door, he found the hallway already dimly lit from below. Peering over the landing, he took in the source of the light – a not-quite-closed drawing room door.

It was practically an open invitation for Harry's investigation, and he was all too happy to oblige.

His bare feet made no sound as he tiptoed down the steps and placed first an eye, then an ear, to the crack in the door. He couldn't see a thing from this angle, but as he listened carefully, he could make out voices. No, just one – Snape's voice. He seemed to be talking to someone, as he would occasionally pause, as if waiting for a response. But Harry couldn't hear a responding voice – only silence.

He nearly snickered at the thought of his Potions Master going nutters, talking into thin air. He barely held his silence, when the voice raised just a fraction in volume, and Harry could finally make out a few words.

"…hidden…know I can't say…secret keeper…"

Harry pressed himself as close to the door as he could without moving it, his ear straining to hear more as Snape's voice paused for response from the unknown party, then resumed.

"…questioning my loyalties…" Another pause. "…Dark Lord, Lucius…"

Harry managed to not make a sound, his blood turning to ice through his veins, as he came to the realization of who it was that Snape was talking to.

Lucius Malfoy.

The man whom he had felt the Dark Lord proclaim in his thoughts as his most trusted follower. And Snape was talking to him like…like they were still on the same side.

He managed to stand completely still as he waited for Snape's next words. But as before, he couldn't make anything out.

Actually, he couldn't hear anything now. Not even the hum of a voice.

Harry spun round and sprinted for the kitchen as quickly as he dared. He couldn't know how much time he had before–

"Potter!" The angry shout had no more been issued from the doorway of the drawing room than the man was upon him, his arm snaking out to grab hold of Harry, halting his escape down the stairs. Harry was spun forcibly around and found himself face to face with Snape's thunderous black eyes.

Ooh, the man was angry. Harry forced himself not to flinch.

"What did you hear, Potter? Tell me! What did you hear?" Snape hissed, pale face contorted in rage.

"N-nothing! I –"

"Do _not_ lie to me!" The vice grip on Harry's arm tightened.

"I – I was just on my way to the kitchen, I swear! I heard someone talking, but I couldn't hear words."

Harry felt something pressing in on his mind and realized that Snape was performing Legilimency on him. He broke eye contact before the professor could tell that he wasn't being entirely truthful.

Harry was abruptly released and grabbed hold of the stair railing to keep himself from falling.

"Kitchen. Now," grated Snape, looking about ready to commit murder, or, at the very least, an Unforgivable.

Harry took a quick look around. Without his wand, what could he use as a weapon to defend himself?

But Snape was not in a patient mood. He placed his long, cold fingers on the back of Harry's neck and propelled him forward, down the rest of the stairs, through the kitchen door, and into the closest chair.

Snape stood between Harry and the door, effectively blocking any chance of escape, and Harry had no choice but to sit, dread filling him at not knowing what the menacing man had in store for him.

"We are not at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," Snape spoke quietly, crossing his arms authoritatively, "There are no adoring fans for you to impress; there are no indulgent teachers to give in to your every whim. _I_ am the only one here. I, and I alone, will determine the way in which you spend the remainder of your summer holiday. And do believe me…I can be quite creative when necessary." Snape leaned forward suddenly as he finished his lecture, placing one hand on either side of Harry's chair.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't hold in a flinch at the sudden movement, and he leaned as far back as his chair would allow, which wasn't very far. Snape's face was way too close to his for comfort, and he couldn't help but be very aware at that moment that there was no one else in the house to help him. Well, no other wizard, that is…but thinking of Dobby's methods of helping him wasn't really much comfort.

Thankfully, in the next moment, Snape backed away and stood to his full height. He was still visibly angry, but his eyes had taken on a contemplative gleam. He crooked one finger. "Come, Potter," he ordered and immediately turned to stalk out the door.

Harry hesitated. He really didn't want to follow that man anywhere in the mood he was in…

"COME, POTTER!"

Harry jumped out of his chair and warily followed Snape across the hallway and up several flights of stairs. He hovered at the doorway to what looked to be Snape's makeshift potions laboratory. Bottles and jars filled with potions ingredients lined shelves along all four walls, and a cabinet off to one side probably held even more. Several cauldrons were simmering with half-finished brews, and more empty cauldrons were stacked on the ground against the farthest wall. Snape had stalked to one side of the room and was currently emptying the contents of one of the jars.

"There," Snape waved his hand over both the slimy pile and the shelf above it, which was packed full of jars, each filled with the same slimy contents. "I'll expect the entire shelf of toads to be disemboweled by morning. Get started."

Harry stepped back. "Wh-what? It's the middle of the night!"

"Precisely, Potter. Did I or did I not tell you that there was to be no wandering the house at night?"

"I couldn't sleep!"

"Good. Disemboweling toads is less difficult if you are completely awake."

Harry gaped as Snape turned his back to stir the contents of one of his cauldrons. He couldn't be serious!

"Get started, Mr. Potter!" Snape repeated, his tone edgy with impatience.

Harry issued a nasty glare at the Potions Master's back, then moved to get to work. Ugh. At least he knew how to do this; they'd had to in class last term. He hadn't liked it much then, either. He also hadn't had an entire shelf to do in one sitting.

They worked in silence for the next hour, Snape checking each cauldron in turn, occasionally stirring or adding ingredients, while Harry ran through a mental list of every reason he hated potions….and potions masters.

Not least of all that he _still _didn't know where the man's loyalties were. Could he still be loyal to Voldemort? Harry had felt Voldemort's thoughts toward the man when he had been torturing him, and he knew Voldemort genuinely believed Snape to have betrayed him. But might he be mistaken? Or might Snape be on neither side – might he be playing both sides to serve his own shady end?

The only thing that Harry knew with absolute certainty was that Lucius Malfoy was _not _on the right side. Harry was disinclined to even trust Snape, who had Dumbledore's vote of confidence…but he'd simply had too many run-ins with the senior Malfoy to believe that _he_ was even remotely capable of spying for the side of the light. Which meant that Snape, who was contacting Malfoy, was either still spying in some capacity or really was working for the wrong side.

And then Harry had another thought, sudden and completely unrelated to the question of either man's loyalties. Wasn't Lucius Malfoy supposed to still be in Azkaban after the Department of Mysteries? Harry always felt cut off from wizarding news while at the Dursleys, but surely he'd have heard about it if Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban…right?

Apparently not.

Well, he was hardly going to ask Snape about it. He'd know Harry had overheard him talking, and after all, he could make his holiday…_creative_. Harry involuntarily shivered. He wasn't keen on doing anything more 'creative' than preparing potions ingredients.

Snape didn't even look tired, Harry thought with annoyance, and he was dressed in his regular black clothes. Didn't the man ever sleep? Remembering all the times he'd run into Snape wandering the halls at night at Hogwarts, he was inclined to think not.

Harry tossed another completed toad into a jar, then started on the next. He was working more quickly now, getting used to the routine. As much as he was loathe to admit it, even to himself, he was starting to be almost glad for something to do. Boredom, as it turned out, was even worse than having to cut up smelly dead toads.

Not that he would have admitted as much to Snape, of course. He'd either send him back to his boredom, knowing it was the worse punishment, or he'd use it as an excuse to work Harry to the bone for the rest of summer.

He reached for another toad and stifled the beginnings of a yawn. He hadn't realized until then that his scar didn't hurt anymore. The prickling feeling was gone, and along with that, his desire to be awake.

He yawned again at the mere thought of going back to sleep.

"Dobby!"

Harry jumped at Snape's sudden call for the house-elf. He'd gotten rather used to the quiet.

Dobby appeared with a pop, huge eyes trained on Snape. "Dobby is here. What is Professor Snape wanting, sir?"

"There is a green bottle in my most recent package from Professor Dumbledore. Bring it to me."

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir!" And with a pop, Dobby was gone.

Harry reached for another toad and couldn't help a glance back at his Potions professor. He was mostly turned away from Harry, slowly stirring the ingredients of a cauldron, his profile barely visible. What struck Harry right then was that Snape looked so…well, _calm_. The tension that had permeated the man's air only an hour before was hardly noticeable now. In fact, Harry couldn't ever remember seeing his professor as at ease as he seemed right then, stirring his slowly simmering potions.

It occurred to Harry that maybe making potions was for Snape like flying on a broom was for Harry. It was his retreat, somewhere he could escape the world for a little while. And here, away from Hogwarts, maybe he was calmer because he could do it for the sake of doing it, not with dozens of children and professors alike constantly underfoot. After all, Harry didn't have any trouble figuring out that Snape preferred to be alone.

"I don't hear you working, Mr. Potter." Snape didn't bother to turn around.

Giving a slight jump at being caught, even if Snape hadn't seen where his attention had been focused, Harry quickly got back to work.

A pop sounded, and Dobby immediately handed a small green bottle to Snape. "Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to bring him anything else, sir?"

"No. That will be all. You may wait here in case I should have need of you."

"Y-yes, Professor Snape, sir." Dobby's big eyes held a tinge of dismay, his ears drooping slightly. "Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to clean more leeches, sir?"

Harry shuddered. At least he'd gotten assigned the toads over the leeches.

"No. That will be unnecessary."

Dobby stood for another moment, ears drooping further, before raising slightly. "Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to –"

"Prof- _I_ will not be requiring your services at the moment, Dobby," Snape stated firmly, voice betraying a hint of impatience. "Wait over there," Snape pointed at a spot near Harry, "and do not _do anything_ unless I _tell_ you to."

As soon as Dobby turned to do Snape's bidding and set eyes on Harry, he jumped forward in something resembling a very awkward jig. "Harry Potter!" Dobby's eyes lit up, and his ears reached for the ceiling. "Dobby will wait here all day doing nothing if he is to be doing it next to Harry Potter!"

And with that, the little house-elf jumped to stand in the indicated corner, eyes happily blinking his adoration.

Harry, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Blatantly showing Snape one more instance of someone who only tolerated Snape's company but who hero-worshipped Harry… well, it didn't seem the best way to get through the summer in one piece.

And knowing that Snape hated too much chatter in his potions classes, Harry issued Dobby a small smile, then dutifully returned to his task.

Dobby, however, didn't seem to share his concerns. "Harry Potter is working very hard, sir. Dobby will do his work, Harry Potter, sir!"

"Dobby will not." Snape clipped out the order without turning around.

Dobby's ears fell at the missed opportunity, and Harry kind of felt bad for the little house-elf. Spending the past three days straight running back and forth, doing random tasks for a thankless Snape, couldn't be all that fun. And the whole time Dobby had been working so hard, Harry had been lazing about the house to the extent that he had become bored out of his mind.

He even managed to feel a little bit guilty. Hermione would have been proud.

"Here, Dobby," he whispered, still unwilling to break the silence more than necessary, "you can use my chair. I don't need it right now." It was true, he thought as he pushed his chair away from him and toward the tired house-elf. Standing for a bit would take Harry's mind off of sleep while he finished the rest of the shelf.

Dobby's eyes welled up with tears. "Harry Potter is giving his chair to a house-elf? Dobby knows Harry Potter to be a great wizard, sir, but Dobby–"

"Just take it, Dobby!" Harry whispered quickly, hoping to silence the house-elf, who was starting to wail rather loudly. He just about slammed his own head on the table in true house-elf fashion at his own impulsiveness. He knew better. If he hadn't been so tired, maybe he would have stopped to think about the usual effect his simple gestures of courtesy had on the little creature. "Dobby! Dobby, shh!"

"Harry Potter is so kind and good and wonderful to us house-elves!" Dobby sniffed, trying to obey Harry's order to quiet down. "So selfless and noble and–"

Harry distinctly heard a snort coming from the other side of the room as Dobby continued his ode to Harry Potter, and he swiveled to get an idea of just how much trouble he was going to be in for his part in this sudden outburst.

Snape had finally turned from his potions, and surprisingly, didn't look angry. Harry figured he had the calming influence of the potions lab to thank for that. The man did, however, look slightly annoyed. And as though he thought the kind words coming out of the elf's mouth about Harry were the most absurd claims he had ever heard.

"Dobby, go to the kitchen. We will require breakfast in thirty minutes' time," Snape ordered in an apparent attempt to rid himself of the loud wailing noises.

"Y-yes, P-professor Snape, s-sir!" Dobby gave Harry one last watery smile and apparated from the room.

Harry sighed in relief.

"Care of Magical Creatures a little lax of late?" Snape questioned snidely, eyebrows raised.

"Of course not! Hagrid's an excellent teacher!" he defended automatically, though he flushed at knowing that might be a bit of an exaggeration, even on Hagrid's best days. Harry hadn't even known house-elves were supposed to be on the curriculum for Care of Magical Creatures. "And besides," he continued, "house-elves aren't like most magical creatures, not really. I mean, not like dragons or flobberworms. They can think and act for themselves, you know. They're not _that_ different from wizards."

"Yes. You have demonstrated their capabilities of theatrics to be worthy of any Hufflepuff first year. Very impressive indeed."

Harry knew he wasn't going to win. So he glared and picked up his next toad.

Thankfully, Snape took his victory without further argument. "Complete the one you are on, then wash up for breakfast. You'll finish the rest after we eat."

Harry lifted his head in surprise, though Snape had already turned away. When the professor had said he had to finish the whole shelf by morning, he'd figured that meant without any breaks until he'd finished, even for food. That's how it would have been at the Dursleys, and he hadn't given any thought that Snape would be much better than them.

Well, on second thought, Snape _had_ been the one to take him away from his relatives, hadn't he? And even if it had included revealing Harry's secret, it had been because of the professor's conversation with Dumbledore that resulted in Harry not being sent back.

Harry realized then that he hadn't even said so much as a thank you.

Yet somehow, when he thought that, his mouth refused to say the words. He had no trouble thanking his friends or thanking little Dobby or even thanking Dumbledore, after everything he'd been put through…but when it came to thanking the spiteful, loathsome, greasy Potions Master, he couldn't quite get the words past his uncooperative throat.

Forcing it out of his mind, he turned to finish the toad in his hands. _It's just as well_, he reasoned. Snape would probably find the whole scenario of Harry thanking him utterly revolting. After all, it's like Snape had told Dumbledore…he didn't care about what happened to Harry, not really. He was just the one who happened to be there.

And anyway, it wasn't like Harry hadn't helped him first by dragging him to his room and seeing, however awkwardly, to his injuries.

Right. Harry finished the toad with a thoroughly satisfied conscience. He didn't owe the man a thing, not really.

And if he had his way, he'd never owe Snape a thing in his life…no matter _how_ many meals the man let him eat.


	13. Harry's Wheezy

**Chapter Thirteen – Harry's Wheezy**

When Snape had threatened Harry with a summer filled with scrubbing cauldrons and disemboweling toads, he hadn't been entirely truthful.

He'd neglected to mention de-sliming slugs, crushing beetles, chopping ginger roots, and Harry's least favorite: separating puffer-fish parts...all things he'd been made to do in the course of the first thirty-six hours after his middle of the night escapade!

Of course, to Snape's credit, he had given Harry the occasional break to eat, sleep, or "wander the house in an aimless adolescent waste of time and energy." And to Harry's credit, he hadn't killed the greasy git.

Not that that was still out of the question, he fumed as he slammed his knife into a few unfortunate ginger roots.

Snape ignored him, thankfully, busying himself on the other side of the potions lab with what looked to be a fairly complicated potion. Harry liked to think Snape was ignoring him because he had a knife in his hands, but he guessed he knew it would take more than a sixteen-year old with a potions instrument to worry the capable wizard.

He was midway through his next excessive swing of the knife when the loud pop of Dobby apparating into the room caused him to jump, the knife barely missing his own fingers. _That _got his heart to beating, and for once it wasn't out of anger.

He swung around, tempted to scold the house-elf, but biting his tongue when his curiosity won out. In the many hours Harry had spent in this lab over the past two days, Dobby hadn't once entered unless called upon to do so by Snape. (Not that Harry blamed Dobby for not spending extra time in the loathsome man's presence – even house-elves had to have standards.)

"Professor Dumbledore and the Order wizards is here, Professor Snape, sir," Dobby began solemnly, intent on relaying his important message, "And they is wanting Professor Snape to come to the meeting, sir."

_Order meeting?_ Harry sat up straight, attention swinging to Snape.

Snape had turned to hear Dobby's announcement as if he had been expecting such a summons. "Very well," he responded, turning down the heat on his cauldron and simultaneously taking out his wand, "Tell the headmaster I will be along shortly."

"You knew there was an Order meeting today?" Harry blurted out, unintentionally cutting off Dobby's next words. He was half put out and half excited at the prospect of people in the house he could actually stand to be around.

Snape barely spared Harry an uninterested glance before turning to nearly inaudibly incant a spell over his cauldron, which caused the potion to immediately stop bubbling. In fact, it stopped everything. The steam that was rising above it froze into place, ready to resume its ascent at a later wave of Snape's wand.

Pretty nifty spell, that. Harry wished he knew it – it would have made Potions a lot easier over the past five years if he could have time-frozen his own brews while he figured out what in Merlin's name he was supposed to do next.

But that was beside the point.

"When were you going to tell me?" And a more important question: "Did Dumbledore say I could go to the meeting?"

Snape turned to Harry now, finished with his potion freezing spells. But instead of answering him immediately, he crossed his arms and studied Harry from above his large hooked nose. Harry could tell the man was trying to look intimidating, and he was doing a spot on job of it, but honestly… After being in such close quarters with the professor – even at his incommunicative best – Harry figured if the man was going to kill or maim him, he'd have done it by now.

"_Well_?" Harry pressed, running out of patience.

Snape sneered at Harry in obvious disgust at his disrespectful tone. "Well _what_, Mr. Potter? I fail to see how you would have received the impression that I would share with you every detail I know of the Order or its plans. Especially," he stressed, "as _you are not a member _of said Order."

"I should be!" Harry argued. "Just because Dumbledore –"

"_Professor_ Dumbledore! And, again," he bit out, "you will address me as _sir_ or _professor_! Honestly, Potter. If you cannot respect those in positions of authority, how can you possibly expect to receive it in return?"

"I give respect where respect is due," Harry countered, deliberately leaving off the _sir_. "And I _do_ respect Dumbledore! I don't have to say 'professor' to prove it!"

"Ah, yes. I suppose your respect for the headmaster is at the forefront of your mind every time you break another one of his rules?"

"I only break rules when I need to –"

"And I only divulge important information regarding the Order and its plans _when I need to_. The difference, Potter, is that I, unlike you, have the capability to judge the necessary circumstances accurately."

Harry barely managed an enraged sputter before Snape interrupted yet again, "You, _Mr. Potter_, are a mere child. An arrogant, impertinent, spoil –" Snape broke off before he finished the word, though they both knew what he had been about to say.

But he couldn't say that anymore, could he? And judging by the look on the professor's face, Harry could guess that it hadn't truly sunk in until just that moment that one of Snape's 'basic irrefutable facts about Harry Potter' was, in fact, not true.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, suddenly ready to be done with the conversation.

"Respect, Potter," Snape summed up sternly, though he seemed to have lost much of his steam. "You might try it sometime." And with that, he immediately made to leave the room, though stopping suddenly before he'd taken two steps.

"Dobby," Snape barked, in no pleasant mood, "Did I not tell you to inform the headmaster that I will be down shortly?"

Harry hadn't even noticed that the house-elf was still there, but now he looked down to see Dobby's wide eyes watching the two of them in rapt attention.

"Dobby is sorry, Professor Snape, sir! Dobby will punish himself most grievously for this!" With that, Dobby reached for the nearest cauldron stacked against the wall, beginning his familiar, "_Bad_ Dobby! _Ba_ –"

Harry rushed over to stop the house-elf when it looked like he was about to start banging his head on the cauldron. "Er, Dobby, it's okay…no need to punish yourself this time. Maybe you should just, um, go."

"Dobby told Professor Snape his message, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is not to leave until he has told Harry Potter his message as well!"

"A message for _me_?" Harry perked up. Maybe he would be summoned to the meeting too…?

Dobby was already nodding furiously, ears flapping his enthusiasm. "Dobby is sent to inform Harry Potter that his Wheezy is here!"

Harry frowned. "My Wheez…?" And all at once, he felt a huge grin overtaking his face. "Ron? Ron is here? Where…downstairs?"

"That will be all, Dobby. You may go now," Snape ordered before Dobby could answer, and the house-elf wasted no time in disapparating to safer quarters. "Clean your work area. Quickly," the man ordered Harry and waited impatiently for his directions to be obeyed.

Harry was only too happy to comply, excited at the prospect of seeing his best friend after weeks of no contact, save owl post. Even Snape's impatient finger tapping couldn't erase the smile on his face.

And he was not disappointed a few minutes later, when, upon descending the stairs to the hallway, the air was knocked out of him by a fierce hug, not from the friend he'd been expecting, but by a smaller, bushy-haired witch.

"Hermione! What're you doing here?"

Hermione backed up, though only long enough to grab his arm and haul him back up the stairs toward his own bedroom. He chanced a last glance toward the direction of the stairs to the kitchen, where he saw Snape's dark form retreating.

Hermione didn't say a word until she'd pulled him all the way into his bedroom and shut the door.

Ron's freckled face grinned at him from atop his own bed. "I told her not to attack you this time, mate. How'd she do?"

"Ronald! We've more important matters to discuss!" Hermione turned from her scolding to wave a folded piece of parchment in breathless excitement. "Your O.W.L. results have arrived!"

Harry laughed, more relieved to see his friends than he had even thought he'd be. He eagerly reached for the parchment, settling himself onto a corner of his bed to view his results. It was odd, though, that there was no envelope. He looked up, unspoken question on his face.

Ron and Hermione, both sitting on the bed now as well, each had the grace to look a bit abashed.

"We didn't want to pry, Harry, really," Hermione rushed to explain, "but…well, Professor Dumbledore had your correspondence from the school sent to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley this summer. He asked them to pick up your school supplies for next year from Diagon Alley, see…and they couldn't know what books to purchase without knowing what marks you received…" She looked as if she were bracing herself for an outburst similar to their first meeting last summer.

It was that, perhaps, that made Harry not quite so angry at not being the first to open his own mail. Plus, he didn't know how long Ron and Hermione were going to be able to stay. He wasn't all that sure he wanted to pass the short time arguing with them.

He had Snape for that.

So he unfolded the parchment and rushed to read his results. All in all, they weren't as bad as he had feared. He'd failed his Divination and History of Magic exams, which wasn't at all surprising. And he'd gotten an 'Acceptable' in Astronomy. But he'd received an 'Exceeds Expectations' in pretty much everything else. Except for Defense Against the Dark Arts, in which he had received an 'Outstanding'!

It was enough to make him laugh in relief…until it sunk in that he didn't receive the needed grade in Potions to continue on in Snape's Advanced Potions class. And if he didn't continue in that class, he had no hope of being accepted into the Auror program.

His laughter died on his lips, a disappointed feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He'd already figured he wouldn't get a high enough mark, but still…actually seeing it written out in front of him, he felt like he was physically watching his Auror dreams go up in smoke.

"What'd the two of you get in Potions?" he asked, needing to know.

"Acceptable," said Ron, at the same time as Hermione predictably answered, "Outstanding."

"Oh." Well, at least he and Ron could sit this one out together. He folded up his results, firmly pushing his disappointment aside as Hermione filled up the silence.

"Here is the booklist from Hogwarts. Ron and I brought your schoolbooks up so you can get a start on studying for next year. There's Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, and Herbology. To tell the truth, Mrs. Weasley and I weren't all that certain that you intended to continue on with Herbology, but we took a chance…oh, and I told her she might want to wait on Care of Magical Creatures, as I wasn't sure you would want to continue with that class." She looked a little ashamed at not thinking he'd jump at the chance to attend Hagrid's class…not that she was wrong, Harry thought. "Astronomy…now, that was an option, though considering the lack of a high passing mark, I wondered if Professor Sinistra might –"

"Hermione!" Harry interrupted her thoughtful monologue, but he softened his voice at knowing she'd put so much thought into advising Mrs. Weasley on his class preferences. "Thanks, Hermione. I…I can't wait to look at my books."

Ron's cough sounded suspiciously like a disguised snort, and Harry carefully avoided his friend's eyes lest he lose control of his carefully serious face.

Hermione beamed. "You're welcome, Harry!"

"Now that we've got that settled," Ron inserted right away before Hermione could steer the conversation toward academics again, "we're only allowed to stay until the Order meeting's done, and we've lots to fill you in on."

Finally! Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Is there more news on Voldemort? His Death Eaters? What is the Order doing to fight? Is the Ministry doing anything now?"

"They're not doing enough, that's for sure!" Hermione broke in heatedly, face flushing at her vehemence.

"We don't know a lot, mate," Ron continued. "Just bits and pieces we've been able to overhear from conversations around my house. Sometimes it's a right good thing it's so small, really. That, and Fred and George are in the Order now, so they're happy to drop hints, even if they've been warned against actually telling us anything."

"Wait. So…Hermione's been staying with your family, then?"

"Not all summer," Hermione explained. "Just a day here and there. My parents haven't seen me much the last couple summers, and after the school informed them of the growing threat with Voldemort…well, they were quite insistent we have more time as a family this year."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense." Harry hadn't given a great deal of thought to how the Muggle-born students' families might be handling the coming war, especially as his own Muggle relatives didn't really care one way or another if he lived or died. It must be scary, he realized, to know you're in danger, and not to truly be a part of the world that presents that danger. And then to know that at the end of summer, you're sending your kid right back into that world…

Ron was already talking. "So anyway, we figure you probably didn't hear about Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Harry jerked himself out of his meandering thoughts. _Lucius Malfoy._ "Was there a breakout?" He asked the question, already knowing the answer.

A nod.

"Why wasn't it in the papers?" he demanded. He hadn't gotten his hands on any newspapers since he'd been confined to Grimmauld Place, but he'd received a few issues of the _Quibbler_ and the _Daily Prophet_ at the Dursleys, and he hadn't read any such thing. In fact, he hadn't really read anything that pointed to Death Eater activity – just article on top of article about how it was a sure thing Voldemort was back and lists of how people needed to be safe and prepared for the coming war. But nothing actually _about_ the coming war. It was downright maddening.

"Oh, it was in the paper, alright," Hermione issued an exasperated glare, then tossed Harry a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, opened to the next to last page.

Harry scanned the page, then looked up, confused. "What does 'single white witch looking for cat-loving wizard' have to do with Azkaban?"

"The opposite side, Harry! Lower left corner. See? There – small article on the bottom."

Small was an understatement, Harry thought as he squinted to read the tiny lettering.

_**Wizarding Prison Undergoes Reconstruction**_

_Azkaban, the wizarding world's most secure prison, will be closed to visitors, including family members of prisoners, in the coming months, as security measures are scheduled to be revised and reconsidered in light of the upcoming war. "There is nothing to be concerned about. Absolutely nothing," the Minister of Magic reassured in an exclusive interview with the Daily Prophet, "The safety of the wizarding world is our topmost concern!"_

_Azkaban Prison is expected to reopen by the end of the year, under improved management and with vastly superior security measures._

Harry looked up from the brief article. "That's it?" he asked incredulously. "There's nothing about a breakout in here. Not even a hint."

"Precisely," Hermione sniffed. "They can't deny Voldemort's return, so now they're covering up how bad it really is with reassurances about how safe we all are with the Ministry looking out for us!"

"Trying to avoid mass hysteria, is how my mum put it," Ron put in, glancing sideways at Hermione.

"Yes, and that will only cause people to become complacent about the war!" Hermione added. "Revised security measures, my foot! The reason they need to be revised is that most of their prisoners have escaped under the current ones! And they need to keep visitors away so that no one finds out. It gives them time to try to round up the escapees quietly, see!"

"What do they mean by 'improved management'?" Harry asked, re-reading the article.

Ron answered this one. "Dementors have left. All of 'em, gone to join Voldemort. It's how the escape happened in the first place."

That made Harry's blood boil. "Why didn't they remove the Dementors from Azkaban the minute they realized Voldemort was back?" he roared.

Fortunately, his friends weren't shocked at his anger, as they looked about as angry with the Ministry as he was. Especially Hermione.

"Guess the Minister got a little sidetracked what with trying to keep his job and all," Ron answered dryly.

"That's not all the news we have, Harry," Hermione rushed past the topic of Azkaban at the sounds of movement downstairs. Apparently the Order didn't intend to meet for very long today. "But we also wanted to know how you're doing. Professor Dumbledore told Ron's parents you would be staying here…with, um, Professor Snape." She ended on a note of incredulity, though Harry guessed that seeing him come down the stairs earlier with Snape had convinced her it was actually true. 

"Yeah," Harry groused, not bothering to hide his dislike of the situation. "Just me and good ol' Snape. And a million and one chores involving disgusting potions ingredients."

Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm in sympathy, though Ron was a little less subtle. "What is Dumbledore _thinking_? Snape _hates_ you! I'll probably never see you alive agai–"

"I'm sure the headmaster has your best interests in mind, Harry," Hermione interrupted calmly, shooting Ron a brief glare. "Snape _is_ in the Order, after all. And you're way too important to the headmaster for him to leave you with someone who couldn't properly protect you."

"Yeah, but who's gonna protect him from Sna – ow!" Ron rubbed his sore arm, eyes shooting daggers at Hermione.

"How – how are you doing with, um, everything else, Harry?" she asked hesitantly, leaving both hands within swatting distance of Ron.

It wasn't hard for Harry to figure what she was getting at with the overly concerned look she was directing his way.

"I'm fine," he answered immediately, following it up with an insistent, "Really. I'm fine, Hermione," when she looked about ready to press him again. He really wasn't in the mood to discuss his mourning for Sirius right then. Or ever, really. Rehashing things wouldn't change how they'd played out.

"I…uh, I wanted to talk to you, though," he segued, knowing it would make her forget all about Sirius for the time being, "about…about what Dumbledore told me at the end of the year. About the prophecy."

Sure enough, both his friends sat up straight, waiting in attentive silence for him to continue.

He'd thought about this, too, during his stay at the Dursleys…mostly when trying to avoid thinking about Sirius. Dumbledore hadn't exactly said he couldn't tell his friends about the prophecy, and somehow he didn't think the headmaster would mind. Harry needed his friends, after all, and he couldn't imagine going through an entire school year keeping something like this from them.

"Well, see…the prophecy that was destroyed in the Ministry…it was made to Dumbledore."

Hermione released a long breath. "He told you the prophecy, Harry? Then…you know what it said?"

Harry nodded, and both of his friends waited with bated breath.

"The prophecy said…I'm going to have to kill Voldemort. Personally. Or he's going to have to kill me."

Both of his friends wore identical faces of shock.

"Harry...oh, Harry," Hermione breathed. "How…how do know that? What did it say exactly?"

Harry quoted the prophecy, line for line, just how he'd played it through his mind countless times since Dumbledore had revealed it to him.

Silence covered the room, broken only by Ron's muttered "Blimey."

"Yeah," Harry responded.

Unfortunately, what more they had to say on the topic would have to wait, for just then a knock sounded on Harry's bedroom door, followed by Mrs. Weasley's head poking into the room.

He no more heard a "Harry, dear!" than he was engulfed in Mrs. Weasley's maternal hug. "How have you been?" She held him at arm's length, not waiting for a reply before she clucked, "Too skinny, my dear, too skinny indeed. Well, we'll have none of that. Come now, you three! The Order meeting is over, and we've plenty of food for the eating!"

With that, the three teenagers were ushered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where most of the Order was still milling about, some involved in serious conversations, some visiting jovially.

"Harry!" Fred called out, he and George coming across the room to greet him, followed soon by Remus, Tonks, and several other familiar faces.

Harry couldn't help but let go of his serious mood, as the sights and sounds of happy and familiar people surrounded him. _This_, he thought, well into the consumption of his dinner, and looking around at the smiling faces laughing with him…_this is what summer should feel like_.

But the dinner hour passed all too quickly, and before he knew it, he was saying his good-byes:

"Yes, Hermione, I promise to write."

"Yes, I swear I'll eat five meals a day, Mrs. Weasley!"

"Yes, Ron, you can have my broom if…you know…"

He thought better than to interrupt Hermione's fresh round of Ron-scolding, and then before he knew it, he was alone.

But, somehow, having shared a part of his burden, he didn't _feel_ so alone just now.

He trudged back up to the potions laboratory, where he knew Snape would be waiting for him to finish cutting up the ginger roots. And this time, as he approached his dreaded chore, he did so with a smile on his face.

Yeah, he wasn't alone.

_Every now and then_, he thought, _it was nice to be reminded._

…

_A/N – Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! It is so thrilling to read feedback from those of you who have read since my first chapter posting, and also from new people discovering my story!_

_Thank you so much! And don't forget to continue… :)_


	14. Wanted: Occlumency Tutor

**Chapter Fourteen – Wanted: Occlumency Tutor**

_It was cold and damp. And dark._

No matter how Harry tried to look around him, his eyes couldn't see. Nor could he remember how he'd gotten here. Or even where here was.

He shivered.

"It's frightening, facing the unknown, isn't it, Harry?" spoke a voice from the darkness beside him.

Harry couldn't help it; he jumped.

A wand tip illuminated the room, bringing his surroundings into focus. A glance around revealed that he was in a large enclosed room, surrounded on all sides by stone walls. It looked to be some sort of basement. Sitting beside him, with lit wand in hand, was…himself.

"I'm dreaming again," Harry stated knowingly, not asking this time.

"Yes," replied Other Harry, "You are."

They sat in silence for a moment, and though Harry knew it was a dream, he still felt inexorably cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, fighting off the chill. This dream, like the last, felt so real.

"Why did you show me Hogwarts? And Hogsmeade?" He asked accusingly, giving in to a shudder, this time not from the cold. "I saw my friends last night. And now, I…those images... Why do that to me?"

Other Harry answered after a moment. "Why fight wars? Why battle evil or stand up for what is right? Someone has to, Harry, or evil will win. Sometimes you must know what the evil looks like…what it will do…before you can convince yourself the war is worth fighting."

"I already know that it is."

"Not all ways of fighting are as straightforward or as easy as pulling out a sword," Other Harry replied vaguely.

"You mean like…strategy?"

Other Harry gave him a small smile, then looked away. "Not exactly. You'll know what I mean. When you are ready."

Harry didn't feel like arguing. "Where are we now? Another future?"

Other Harry waved an arm in silent invitation to explore.

Harry walked around the cold stone room. It _was_ a basement, he realized by the stairs leading to the only door above. But he didn't get further in his exploration when he heard the faint sound of someone breathing.

They weren't alone.

He moved his feet in the direction of the still, half-dressed form of an apparent prisoner lying on his back in the far corner. His pulse quickened as he bent over the form, turned the head so that he could look at the face…and tripped backward in his haste to get away.

"It's me!" he gasped, stumbling as far away as possible from his own alive, but nonetheless lifeless eyes staring back at him. "Is –" he tried hard to breath. "Is this my future?" _Breathe._ "Is this what will happen to me if…or when…I fail?"

He leaned into the wall, in the spot he had occupied earlier.

Other Harry sighed next to him. "Seeing the future is a tricky thing. Some futures cannot be changed. Others are mere possibilities. Hogwarts, Hogsmeade…that was a possibility."

"And this?" Harry asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"This will happen."

Harry swallowed several times before he could speak. "Is it Voldemort? Is he the one who put him…me here? Did he finally get the blood he wanted?"

A slight nod was his answer.

Harry closed his eyes against his racing thoughts. "Am…am I dead? _That_ me, I mean…is he…dead?"

"No. Not yet."

Harry shivered, not knowing this time if it was from the cold or not. "I'm going to die, then. Is that it? This is where I die, giving my blood for Voldemort's strength so that he can go on to murder everyone in my life that I love."

"If you die here, in this room, as Voldemort's prisoner, the future I showed you before will cease to be a possibility; it will become a certainty."

Harry drew a shaky breath before latching onto the one word of hope. "If? Then I could still escape? I might live? _They_ might live?"

"Have you asked Dumbledore about the other prophecy?" Other Harry asked suddenly, shifting the direction of the conversation.

Harry shook his head, focusing his eyes on the stone floor.

"Why not?"

He'd been so preoccupied since that last night with the Dursleys, he'd barely given it a second thought. But he knew that wasn't the real reason. "You're not real." There. Saying it out loud eased his breathing. "You seem so real, it's easy to forget while I'm here, but…you're only a dream. It…you can't be real."

Other Harry scrutinized him. "You require proof?"

"Yes."

"Not every truth in life will present you with incontrovertible proof, Harry. Sometimes you must simply trust."

"Maybe so, but not everything that looks or feels real _is_ real," Harry countered. "I _believed_ that Voldemort's false vision was real, and look where that got Sirius. I won't make the same mistake twice."

Other Harry's voice was soft. "You have learned a difficult lesson… Yes, you are right to question me." He reached into a pocket and drew out something small, holding it out to offer it to Harry.

Harry took the object, recognizing it as the snitch. Like once before, as Harry watched, colors swirled within the golden ball until a face appeared, though it wasn't Dumbledore this time; it was Snape. The pale, dark haired man stared out of the snitch to a point over Harry's shoulder, his face twisted into his trademark sneer. "I'd prefer moldy cabbages boiled in beetle stew." And Snape brushed his hair away from his face and crossed his arms before the image faded, presenting Harry with a plain golden snitch once more.

Other Harry took back the snitch and spoke again, as if there had been no odd interruption. "Trust is a tricky thing, Harry. Much like seeing the future. Sometimes you already have all the evidence you need to use it…or to change it."

"Are you trying to tell me to trust Snape?"

Other Harry looked amused, for once. "You forget I am a part of you, Harry. Telling you to trust someone whom you claim to hate is something I would not presume to do."

"Good. At least I agree with myself on that."

"You rely heavily on your instincts. All I offer is the notion that even great instincts such as yours can be fallible if not based on correct…and complete…information."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, okay…yeah, I can agree with that." He didn't need to look any further than the events leading up to Sirius' death to see the truth in that statement.

"Good. You'll see me again."

"When?" But when Harry turned to ask his question, the room went dark. His other self was gone, his lit wand along with him.

Harry was alone again in a dream from which he had no idea how to wake. He closed and opened his eyes, pinched himself, thought of waking…all to no avail. And so he leaned against the wall, listening to the sounds of his prisoner self breathing steadily from across the room.

At least he wasn't the sole survivor on a battlefield this time. In comparison, the darkness he could handle. He'd gotten used to the dark: the spiders, the loneliness, the unknown 'monsters' lurking in his cupboard. Sometimes, the dark was almost comforting.

Sometimes, however, it forced his mind to wander to things better left ignored. Things he'd pushed to the back of his mind for fear he'd have no choice but to lose himself in thoughts of them...

Like his parents. And Cedric. And the very real images of what might happen to his friends if he failed – if he died in this basement.

But mostly…mostly thoughts of Sirius.

And here, in the dark, he couldn't run from his sorrow at the loss of his godfather. His mind wouldn't let him push it aside any longer, and the darkness provided the perfect cover for his silent tears to begin to fall.

So they did. He hadn't allowed himself to cry before…but now…it felt good.

"Sirius," he whispered. "You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to be there for me. Why did you go?"

His tears turned to sobs.

"Why?" he demanded, anger joining his sorrow, "If you were here, I'd know what to d-do!" He was finding it hard to speak through his worsening sobs. So he stopped speaking, pouring himself into his tears of loss. It wouldn't bring Sirius back; he knew that. It's what had stopped him from crying before. That and deciding that at sixteen he was too old for tears.

But here, in the dark, in his dream...he thought maybe it was alright to cry. Just this once.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, sobs wracking his body, before he felt another presence. A hand rested on his shoulder.

He lifted his head in the darkness.

"Sirius?" Sirius was gone; he knew it. But this was a dream, not reality. Maybe Sirius could come to him in a dream…?

"Black is dead, Potter."

Harry frowned. That wasn't Sirius. It wasn't Other Harry, either.

He looked around, trying to see through the darkness. The smell of the damp, stone basement was the only thing to meet his senses…and it was mixed with another scent, a scent he recognized from before. It was the scent of blood. He couldn't see, but he knew another version of himself still lay in the far corner…not dead, but not quite alive. Waiting to give up more of his blood for Voldemort's rising power.

He concentrated on breathing past his fear, his sobs giving way to an occasional shudder.

He felt the hand leave his shoulder, and the air around him shifted. The presence was leaving.

Harry reached out blindly in the darkness. "Wait! Don't leave me in here!" He swallowed his panic. It was like before, when he hadn't been able to escape the battlefield. This…this wasn't as bad, but still. The thought of being trapped forever all alone in this dark room, only his own nearly dead self for company, with no idea how to escape…

"In where, Potter?"

He recoiled. The voice was harsh; it didn't like him. He thought quickly…how could he get away? His breathing quickened.

The presence moved closer. It spoke again, softer than before, "In where? Where are you…Harry?"

Harry flinched as he felt the hand touch his shoulder again. It stayed, though, lightly…comfortingly.

"Don't go," he whispered.

"I won't go," the presence promised, waiting a few seconds before again asking softly, "Where are you?"

"The – the basement. Can't you smell it?"

"Smell what?"

Harry shuddered again. "It's cold in here."

The presence didn't say anything for a few moments, and though the hand never left his shoulder, Harry felt something shift in the air around him. He felt warmer, though he couldn't have explained why.

"What do you smell, P– Harry?"

"Dirt and mold…and blood." He felt his nose wrinkle his distaste.

"Blood? Whose blood?"

Harry shivered again, despite being warm. "His…I mean, mine. Voldemort's taken it; he's coming to take more."

The hand on his shoulder tightened, though it didn't hurt. "How did you get to the basement, Harry?"

"I…I don't know. It's a dream. I think it's the future. But it won't let me go…" He frowned. It didn't quite make sense when he said it like that. He forgot about it though, as the hand tightened again, this time painfully. It let up at Harry's wince.

"What won't let you go?"

Harry froze, and his heart started to pound. There was a sound within his dream…like someone was coming to the door to the basement. Sure enough, a moment later, the door to the basement opened and he shielded his eyes as light flooded the room.

He watched as a cloaked figure descended the steps and turned toward the still form on the opposite side of the basement.

"Potter?" A voice called to him, shaking him, but as Harry looked on either side of him in the basement, he couldn't see the presence he had been talking to. He brushed off the invisible hands, intent on finding out why the cloaked figure was here.

A moment later, he wished he hadn't watched, as the figure waved a wand over the still form, and Harry saw a large vial in the figure's hands fill with red liquid.

"Blood," he whispered. "He's taking more of my blood."

"Potter. You're dreaming. Wake up." The voice was stern, and Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought there might be an edge of panic to it. But it was calling him Potter again…in that voice that meant it didn't like him.

"It won't let me go," he repeated, backing away from the presence, but then it spoke to him softly again, in a voice that made Harry feel calm.

"Harry, you need to tell me what won't let you go."

"The dream. The dream won't let me go." He lowered his head as the cloaked figure within his dream climbed the stairs and turned off the lights to leave him once more in darkness. "Please," Harry whispered. "Can you make it let go?"

Harry heard a rustling in the darkness, and a sound like a door closing from far away, followed by a whoosh of air nearby.

Harry flinched away as he felt a hand touch his chin.

"Open your mouth," spoke the presence. "I have a potion. It will help you to escape from your dream."

Harry opened his mouth obediently, swallowing the potion given to him by the invisible hands. Hm…it was a familiar taste – one he'd had before. As he tried to remember what it was called, he barely noticed as another darkness enveloped him, leading him away from the cold, damp blackness of the basement. But this darkness was okay…it was peaceful…

It was the darkness of dreamless sleep.

And this time, he was unaware when the presence removed its hand from his shoulder. Or when it paused to scan his sleeping form before quietly retreating into the hallway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

…..

Harry woke feeling better rested than he'd been in a good long while. So rested, in fact, that until he opened his eyes completely, he'd thought that maybe he was in his bed back at Hogwarts.

He yawned, lazily stretching. This wasn't so bad, he thought. Having a lie-in in was always a nice feeling, even if he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower.

Harry's eyes popped open all the way. _A lie-in?_

He hurriedly threw off his bedcovers, swinging his feet over to land on the floor. Sure enough, the light streaming in through his bedroom window testified to the fact that it was at least mid-morning, if not later.

His only thought as he scrambled out of his nightclothes and into a shirt and pair of jeans was focused on how angry Snape was going to be.

The professor had already been in a foul mood the night before, which had worsened after one of his potions had failed to reach an exact "milky white" consistency. But he'd been downright murderous after determining Harry's miss-sorting of a puffer-fish eye into the tail pile as the reason for the less than perfect brew.

He'd ordered Harry in no uncertain terms to be in the lab at the break of dawn, as he would be brewing the replacement potion "from dawn until dusk"…or until he got it right.

Well, it was well past dawn, and Harry wasn't about to chance even the extra few minutes it would take to fill his empty stomach. Running his fingers haphazardly through his hair, he bolted out of his bedroom and to the lab, pausing only a moment to catch his breath before stepping cautiously into the room.

But he needn't have bothered to be so cautious…Snape wasn't there.

Looking around carefully to be sure he hadn't overlooked the professor behind some cauldrons, he shifted from one foot to the other, not sure what to do now. Should he get started on the potion? Or wait for Snape? Just looking around didn't seem like such a good idea, what with how angry the man had been the other night after catching Harry listening outside the drawing room…

Finally coming to a decision, Harry left the potions lab in search of the professor. Since he'd started working in the lab, he hadn't been outright told he couldn't be there without the Potions Master present, but accidentally blowing something up wasn't exactly the way he wanted to find out about that rule.

A thorough search of the hallway and drawing room later, he discovered the object of his quest sitting quite calmly at the kitchen table, an array of books, quills, and parchment spread out in front of him. All were stacked and lined up perfectly, much like Snape's potions ingredients in his lab. Harry wondered if the structured man even knew how to let things get a little messy from time to time.

Harry cleared his throat, as Snape hadn't looked up when he entered the room.

The man continued leafing through a large book, and Harry was actually contemplating speech when Snape finally spoke, without looking up, "One might assume that had you not barged loudly into the kitchen, your deafening footfalls would be sufficient to alert me to your presence."

Harry sighed inwardly. So it was going to be one of _those _days. Not that he expected anything other than insults from Snape…but sometimes over the past couple days, Snape had managed not to say much of anything to him beyond potions preparation instructions. Those were Harry's favorite times.

"If you insist on standing in the doorway all day," Snape continued, looking up to give him a pointed glare, "be my guest. It will be considerably more difficult, however, for you to complete your day's assignment standing up."

Harry sat across from Snape without speaking, a little worried about what the "day's assignment" might be and how it involved not being in the potions laboratory. Surely Snape hadn't changed his mind about having Harry brew that potion? Or…he felt a little worried at this thought…was the change in assignment something worse, some punishment because of his having overslept and not shown up on time?

"Dobby!" Snape's call rang out, making Harry more nervous by not getting right to the point of his punishment. Snape's only comment to the materialized house-elf was, "Mr. Potter will require breakfast. See to it."

It was good, really, to hear that he'd be able to fill his hungry stomach after all, but it didn't give Harry much relief to know that. If anything, he felt his stomach knotting up. Why wouldn't Snape just get to telling him what he'd have to do?

But Snape wasn't cooperating with Harry's wishes. He just continued leafing through his book and making notes on parchment while Dobby delivered his food and left Harry to eat. The silence was nerve-wracking, and by the time he was finished with his food, he actually felt a little ill.

He pushed his near-empty plate aside, and it immediately vanished from the table.

He only had to wait a moment before Snape set aside his quill and finally gave Harry his undivided attention. But when that attention involved simply studying him for several long moments without speaking, Harry couldn't help but feel distinctly uncomfortable.

And then, as if he wasn't uncomfortable enough, he all at once recognized that light in Snape's eyes. He hadn't seen it in a few days – not since they'd been at the Dursleys last week. The "I have a puzzle to figure out" face was back. And it was directed once more at Harry.

He'd hoped never to see that face again, but at least the other times he'd known what had brought it on. This time he was at a loss to figure out what he might have done to trigger Snape's odd interest. He squirmed in his seat.

That at least served the purpose of bringing Snape back from whatever thoughts he'd been caught up in. Apparently the man wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Have you had visions of the Dark Lord since summer began?" the professor asked crisply.

Harry blinked. Visions? He was too surprised at the question to come up with a way to dodge it. "Uh…yeah, I guess so."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You 'guess' so, Potter?" His voice grew quieter, which was almost never a good sign. "You mean to say that you have been seeing into the Dark Lord's mind and you haven't thought to inform the headmaster?"

"Erm…" Harry tensed at the sneaking suspicion that he was about to be in an awful lot of trouble. Snape didn't look angry, though…just calculating. But that didn't put Harry at ease.

"Did you have a vision last night?" Snape asked intently.

Harry furrowed his brow as bits of a dream rushed back to him – a basement, so cold, seeing himself lying there, helplessly allowing some Death Eater to take his blood... Harry wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered. "Um, no. I mean, I dreamed, but it wasn't from him…" He knew that, at least – his scar hadn't hurt last night, not even a little bit. Another thought occurred to him. He looked up warily, "You didn't, um, hear me or anything? I mean, I didn't…?"

Snape ignored the question. "And several nights ago – at your relatives' home – was that a vision?"

Harry flushed and ducked his head. "No. That was a regular, um…dream." At Snape's narrowed gaze, he amended, "erm…ok, well, nightmare."

"How often, then?"

"How often do I have nightmares?" Harry asked guardedly, not wanting to admit that answer to Snape, of all people.

"No. How often do you have visions of the Dark Lord?"

"Oh. Only a couple times," Harry insisted, "and it hasn't been anything important –"

"You have no idea what is important, you foolish boy." Snape cut in, still speaking calmly, though Harry heard the underlying danger in the man's voice. Then, without further comment, Snape reached for a book sitting to one side of him. He handed it to Harry, watching his expression.

Harry accepted the thick tome, scanning over the title. _Guarding the Mind: A Beginner's Guide to Occlumency_, by Josepia Prynne.

Occlumency.

Harry hadn't thought before that his stomach could be any more upset; he was wrong. He looked up slowly, warily, praying that this didn't mean what he knew it might mean. Dumbledore had promised Snape wouldn't be made to teach Harry…right? And there was no way Snape would offer.

…Harry hoped to Merlin there was no way Snape would offer…

Still, watching Snape suspiciously, Harry felt like he was waiting for his own death sentence to be determined.

Snape studied him for another moment, then explained, "The headmaster has decided that it is in your best interest to resume the study of Occlumency. You will read this book," Snape continued evenly, "until you have read every sentence on every page in every chapter. You will do nothing _but_ read until you have completed the book. And each night before you sleep, you will practice the techniques outlined in this book. Do you understand?"

Harry met Snape's eyes and nodded, not sure how else to respond. He couldn't even identify the emotion running through him right then…was it trepidation? Anger? How dare Dumbledore even _consider_ letting Snape teach him again?

"The headmaster would 'consider letting me teach you again,' as I am an expert in the fields of Occlumency and Legilimency," Snape taunted, "a talent which you have apparently still yet to begin to grasp."

Harry looked away from the Legilimen's eyes. His face felt so hot at his thoughts having been read, he was sure he must be completely red. "Yes, sir," he muttered out of embarrassment rather than out of any show of respect.

"However, your blatant distaste for a resumed tutoring relationship between the two of us is not unshared, I may assure you," Snape sneered, "which is why we will _not_ be entering into such an arrangement."

Harry looked up hopefully before averting his eyes once more.

"Professor Dumbledore and I have come to an agreement. You will read. You will practice. I will make certain that you read and that you practice. _He _will be overseeing your practical Occlumency tutelage."

Harry let out a breath and felt his whole body relax. He didn't even care if Snape saw how relieved he was. "I'll have lessons with him, then? Here? When? And how often? Oh, and what about when we get back to school?"

Snape gave him a long, expressionless stare before commenting, "You have an annoying habit of asking too many questions, Potter."

Harry blinked. As insults went, that one was Snape-light. Maybe the man was losing his touch. He hadn't even commented on the miniscule size of Harry's brain.

And to Harry's further surprise, Snape went on to actually answer his questions. Without sarcasm. "The headmaster will be arriving tonight for your first tutoring session. Before you ask at what time, allow me to tell you that I do not know. He will come after he has taken care of a few other matters of importance. Thereafter, he will be tutoring you here at his availability. He has a very demanding schedule, and you are therefore required to be prepared for lessons at his convenience, most times with little notice, I would expect. It is due to his intermittent availability that he has assigned this book as preparatory reading. Maintaining lessons upon commencement of the school year would depend, I imagine, on the headmaster's determination of your progress."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage. He was mentally running through Snape's speech for some hidden insult. He couldn't find one, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.

"One more thing, Potter," Snape went on, "As soon as the headmaster arrives, you will relate to both of us – in detail – the visions you have had thus far. _And _you will relate any future visions to me immediately upon waking. Do you understand?"

Snape waited for Harry to nod his agreement before issuing a crisp, "start reading," indicating he was through with talking. He turned back to leafing through one of his books.

Harry paused, hand poised to open the book. He would probably berate himself for this later, but… "What about the potion you told me to brew? I thought…I mean, you said…"

Snape looked up from his work, his lips twisted into a familiar sneer. "You seem to be under the continuing assumption that I am incapable of remembering my own words, Potter. Allow me to assure you: in direct contrast to your own mental capabilities, mine are of adequate size and fully in tact. Now read." He ignored Harry's glare, returning to his own work.

And as Harry opened the thick tome to the first chapter, he at least knew all was right with the world – Snape hadn't lost his insulting touch, after all.

….

_A/N – Thank you for reading! Please review – it's my chocolate!_


	15. An Experiment in Civility

**Chapter Fifteen – An Experiment in Civility**

_The true study of Occlumency is a lifelong process, a skill to which only the most attuned in the mental arts may aspire. The degree of mental discipline required to master the art of Occlumency has rendered the study among the most difficult…_

Harry slumped in his chair. If Dumbledore thought this book would prepare him, he would be sorely disappointed. All the book had served to do so far was to discourage Harry further. It made learning Occlumency sound so _hard_.

Harry snuck a glance at Snape through his lowered lashes. The man had been leafing through various books and writing notes on parchment for more than an hour. Harry tried to sit up straight enough to get a glimpse of what he was writing, but he couldn't quite manage. Having failed, he slumped back down in his chair.

One result of reading this book was that his thoughts had continually been brought back to the most skilled Occlumens he knew. And the man wasn't only moderately skilled: to fool the Dark Lord for so many years – or, for that matter, to maybe still be fooling Dumbledore – he had to be an expert. Hmm. Was there such a thing as an Occlumency master, like there was a Potions master? And knowing that Snape had originally applied to be the DADA teacher, was he a master at that as well? Was there anything that Snape _wasn't_ a master at?

Other than interpersonal relationships, of course.

Harry almost sniggered, but he managed to keep his silence. All he needed was for Snape to exercise his Mastery at Insulting Harry Potter. That was perhaps his best mastery of all.

Harry refocused his eyes on the page and tried to read the next paragraph…_tried_ being the key word. But it was all about the different levels at which one could learn Occlumency, and Harry once again found his attention waning. Why couldn't someone just explain this to him in easy to understand language? Why must it either be by forceful attacks on his mind or through a boring, discouraging giant of a book?

He flipped back to the Table of Contents, hoping to see some more interesting chapters coming up. But instead of reading the actual titles, all he saw was the sheer number of them. It would take him an entire week to even make a dent in this thing!

He again found his eyes drawn up to study Snape. The professor was so skilled; if Harry had liked him, he might have found himself able to admire that skill. But even if he couldn't bring himself to actually admire anything about the man, he still was growing steadily more curious. Just how had Snape come to be an expert at Occlumency? He couldn't have been born knowing it. Had he taken up the study himself? Or been forced into a tutoring situation like Harry? If Harry could figure out how the most skilled Occlumens of his acquaintance had learned it, maybe he'd have a chance at actually learning it for himself this time…and maybe without the grueling task of reading one of the thickest books ever written.

A second was all he needed to come to a snap decision. Snape hadn't been more horrible than usual the last few days, after all, had he? In fact, he hadn't even been thatbad, all things considered. One question wasn't going to end Harry's life as he knew it. So before he could take another second to rethink, he cleared his throat and asked in a carefully respectful tone, "Er…Professor? How did you, um, learn Occlumency?"

Snape's hand stilled on his quill, then continued to complete the line he was writing. A final flourish of the quill, and he brought his narrowed eyes up to survey Harry. "Using conversation as a distraction will only serve to delay your reading, not replace it, Potter. Continue. In silence," he added, a warning to his tone, as he returned to his writing.

Harry shrugged. Well, that wasn't so bad. He didn't get what he wanted to know, but his head was still attached to his body. In fact, it was enough of a victory to give him the courage to try again.

"The book says that Occlumency must be learned…sir. I thought maybe if I knew how you learned it, that might help me figure out how I should go about it."

Snape looked up at him right away this time, with the same narrowed eyes. "Pardon me, Potter. Allow me to understand. You disregarded my instruction last year, blatantly argued with me at every turn, and deliberately trespassed into memories you were forbidden to enter." Snape's tone was growing dangerously low. "And you have now decided to ask for my _advice_?"

Harry sunk into his chair.

"I am not your tutor any longer, thank Merlin. I am only here to ensure that you read. That. Book. Now _read._"

Harry sighed and refocused his attention on the book. Okay, so that hadn't been the brightest of ideas, after all. Even though the man hadn't thrown potions ingredients at him this time, reminding him of Harry's intrusion into his memories wasn't exactly the best way to get him to act civilly. Harry nearly laughed at the workings of his own mind, then. Civil? When had Snape ever been civil toward him?

Actually…

Harry sat up straight once more. He distinctly remembered one instance when he and Snape had carried on a decent conversation. It seemed surreal, looking back on that night at the Dursleys, that the two of them could actually have talked at length without a murder being committed. But still…it _had_ happened. And Harry had learned an awful lot of information, too.

If only Harry was sure he could be Slytherin enough to make it happen again. Okay, well…maybe he wasn't as good at manipulating circumstances as Snape was. And he didn't even know if he had enough information that Snape would want from him in return, but…he could try, couldn't he?

He placed the book square on the table, propping his elbows on its open pages, and steepled his fingers as he had seen Snape do sometimes. Then, in his best imitation of a calm, calculating tone, he commented cooly, "You want to know what You-Know-Who was thinking when you escaped."

Snape brought his head up sharply. "What?" he barked.

Harry tried not to falter. "You want to know what You-Know-Who was thinking when you escaped," he repeated, a little faster than he was going for.

Snape was livid. "What are you playing at, Potter?"

At the professor's murderous tone, Harry was starting to regret his snap decision. He took a breath, trying not to let Snape see how shaky it was, before plunging ahead with his plan. Might as well, right? It wasn't like he could back down now.

"An exchange of information. Um, a question for a question, let's say." Harry gulped, then rushed on, "You answer mine, I'll answer yours."

Snape stared at him. That's all, just stared. Harry did his best not to squirm under that intense gaze. And he tried to hold eye contact, even though he was a little worried about the wisdom of that plan, as the man knew Legilimency and all… But he couldn't back down. He _wouldn't _back down.

Snape deliberately placed his quill on the table, not breaking eye contact, then copied Harry's imitation of his own posture by propping his elbows and steepling his own fingers.

Harry gulped again. He didn't have a clue what Snape was thinking. The man had carefully wiped all trace of emotion from his face, including anger. Maybe this was his revenge – torturing Harry by keeping him in suspense.

Snape finally spoke, his voice slightly mocking, "Mr. Potter. As tempting as your…offer…is, you are forgetting two rather salient points. Firstly, I am well acquainted with the Dark Lord and his present opinion of me. I do believe I can wager a fairly decent guess at what he was thinking when I defected. And secondly, even if that were not the case, it is hardly a decent bargaining chip. You have already agreed to relay your visions for both the headmaster and myself this evening. You hardly have a choice in the matter."

_Oh, yeah._ Harry thought fast. "Then I bet you'd be interested in who he thinks of as his most trusted servant."

"More information I shall gladly ensure that you tell the headmaster this evening."

Harry dropped his arms, exasperated. "Well, there must be something you want to know! You sure enjoyed asking your questions a week ago!"

"What interests me, Potter, is why you are so willing to take a chance at giving me free rein of questions, only to find out how I acquired a common wizarding skill."

Harry nearly scoffed at the idea that it was "common." It wasn't common, by Merlin, it was hard! But Snape's question brought him up short. What _was _he thinking? The questions Snape had asked before at the Dursleys weren't near as bad as they could have been; Harry knew that. So why open himself up to potentially worse questioning just to ask a stupid little question that might not even help Harry learn Occlumency anyway?

The more he thought about it, the less it seemed like a bright idea…and yet the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to get Snape to agree to it. Smart or no, what started as a whim was now a determination. For some reason he didn't even want to analyze, he really wanted to see if that one conversation with Snape was a fluke, or if they could have _two _decent conversations in their lifetimes.

Harry met Snape's eyes, mind made up. "What interests me, professor," he began, putting just the right amount of confidence into his words, "is if you think the agreement so skewed in your favor, why you're not just being a Slytherin and taking advantage of it."

Snape's eyebrows raised a fraction, and his lips twitched nearly imperceptibly. "Very well, Potter. Same terms, I presume?"

Harry blinked. That was it – he had won? "Um, yeah. Same terms. I ask until it's answered to my, er…satisfaction, and then it's your turn."

Snape motioned for Harry to begin before leaning back to cross his arms, his face carefully neutral.

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm…okay, well, how did you learn Occlumency?"

"My mother taught me the foundational principles when I was young. I honed my skills at Hogwarts through personal research and study."

"Your mother was an Occlumens?" he asked, surprised. Snape issued a brief nod. It wasn't really what he'd been expecting to hear. And the image of Snape having a mother…it was weird. Well, he had to come from somewhere, Harry supposed. He couldn't have crawled out from under a rock…even if that theory did sound more likely.

"Is that the extent of your first question?" asked Snape at his silence.

Harry shook his head automatically. He didn't have another question prepared, but he couldn't waste any opportunity to ask for clarification he might wish he'd asked later. "Um…" he bit his lip, thinking hard. "Okay, how young were you when she started teaching you?"

"Looking back, I imagine she must have begun teaching me around the age of three. Of course, I did not realize that at the time. Actual lessons began when I was closer to the age of nine." Snape gave him a look, which Harry could only describe as longsuffering. Harry wasn't a Legilimens, but he knew Snape was generally wondering when Harry would start to ask questions that actually mattered.

Well… "So how did she teach you, then?"

Snape took a moment to respond. "She…taught me to focus my mind on specific images before I slept. By the time we started lessons, I had a firm grasp of how to direct my own thoughts. It was then a matter of learning to deflect them from external attacks."

"So she taught you by attacking your mind, then? Like you did with me?"

Snape took on a defensive, lecturing tone. "Deflecting attacks on one's mind is the only way by which to be prepared for an attack from the enemy, Potter. Do _not _try to blame your lack of learning on my methods of teaching."

"Right. Because the two couldn't possibly be related," Harry groused. Then, before Snape could act on the murderous glare he had just thrown his way, Harry held up his hands in a symbol of surrender. "All I'm saying is you had six _years _to prepare your mind for attacks! I had, what, six seconds?"

Snape didn't erase his glare, but at least he didn't act on it. "Are you quite finished with your first question?" he bit out instead.

"Yeah, I guess I am." Harry slouched back in his seat, bracing himself for Snape's turn.

"Why did you and your friends prepare Polyjuice Potion during your second year at Hogwarts?"

Harry snapped his head up and quickly averted his eyes. "W-what do you –"

"Don't bother denying it, Potter. I know that you and Granger stole the boomslang skin from my office, and I know that you wanted it to brew Polyjuice Potion. What I do not know, to this day, is why you wanted that potion and who you used it to imitate."

Harry felt his neck get hot. "That's not a fair question! You can't ask me to say something that could incriminate anybody else!"

"Too late, Potter. Same rules as last time, remember. And _that _was not a rule. As I have already answered yours, you are obligated to answer mine." Snape looked positively smug – so smug that Harry wished he was allowed to use magic to erase the smugness right off of his face.

Harry settled on glaring. What would happen if he refused to answer? But he'd known what he was getting himself into, hadn't he? And he had still instigated it. He gave a disgruntled huff. "There's some kind of rule, right? About points? Teachers can't take off points for things that happened in a different school year…right?"

Snape's smirk grew. "No, Potter, we cannot. At least…not officially," he added, an evil glint to his eyes. "But not to worry – you always manage to find new ways for me to take points. I do think you'll find yourself lacking in that area regardless of your admissions today."

"Gee, thanks," Harry muttered. "Okay, fine. You win. The whole Chamber of Secrets thing was going on that year, remember?"

Snape cocked his head, his raised brows implying an 'of course I remember, you dunderhead' without him having to voice the words. For which Harry was minutely thankful.

"Okay, you remember. So…there were rumors flying around about the heir of Slytherin, and well…I thought it was Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?" Snape scoffed.

Harry defended himself quickly, "Yeah, well, he's as Slytherin as they come, isn't he? And he comes from a long line of purebloods. Why _couldn't _he have been descended from Salazar Slytherin?"

Snape quirked one brow, which Harry might have thought out of place on the professor's face if it wasn't apparently Snape's way of saying that Harry was an idiot.

"Like I knew!" Harry automatically defended himself, "I grew up with the Dursleys, remember? I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter – how was I supposed to know the whole histories of all the pureblood wizarding families?"

Snape shook his head at Harry's idiocy, but he silently motioned for Harry to continue.

"So…" Harry took a deep breath. Never in a million years would he ever have thought he'd be admitting any of his rule breaking adventures to _Snape_. "So Ron and I used the Polyjuice to look like Crabbe and Goyle so we could get a confession out of Malfoy."

There. He'd said it. Quickly, but he'd said it. He watched Snape warily for a reaction.

"Ah. So you decided to stay within your own cerebral range. Surprisingly sensible of you."

Harry would have been more offended by the insult if Snape hadn't just told him what he thought of two of his own Slytherins. Plus, he hadn't jumped right into a lecture. Harry let out a breath.

"And what did you find out?" Snape asked the question as though he were inquiring about the weather.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Somehow, he got the feeling that Snape was enjoying this. "We found out he didn't know who the heir was any more than we did."

"Pity. You know, Potter, if you had just asked a vast majority of the student population, they'd have told you that _you _were Slytherin's heir."

"Yeah, I know…the parseltongue and all."

"Yes, your little…gift. I do recall quite a few whispered speculations that you had mistakenly been sorted into Gryffindor. Noble hearts never did set snakes to attack their muggleborn classmates, after all, hmm, Potter?"

Harry steamed. "I didn't set that snake on Justin Finch-Fletchley; I was trying to call it off! And as for sorting, the hat did get it right! Dumbledore said we're defined by our choices. Well, I chose Gryffindor! The hat wouldn't have put me there if it didn't fit!" He stopped short of yelling.

"My, my – an impassioned plea if ever I heard one. It nearly brought tears to my eyes."

Harry crossed his arms. He had to stop himself from pouting like a little kid. He really, really wanted to, though. Snape was being a right git. "Does that conclude your questions, _sir_?"

"Not quite. One more clarification, as it relates to your previous answer. You implied that the sorting hat gave you a choice."

"Um…oh." Oops.

"What choice, precisely?"

Harry stared. "Er…it sorted me into Gryffindor, like I said. You were there; you heard it."

Snape raised his chin into the air until he was looking down his nose at Harry. "What choice, Potter?"

Scowling, Harry reluctantly admitted, "It, erm…kind of wanted to put me in Slytherin." He closed his eyes at the thought of Snape spreading it around Hogwarts…along with everything else he had learned. Well, Harry could deal with it – he'd dealt with loads of other times people had thought badly of him. "It said I'd do well in Slytherin, but when I didn't want Slytherin, it put me right in Gryffindor," Harry rushed to say, "because that fit me, too."

"Yes. So you said a few moments ago," Snape pointed out, looking at Harry shrewdly. Harry squirmed under Snape's unreadable gaze.

"That concludes my line of questioning, Potter. Do you wish to continue? Or have you had quite enough?"

Harry's better judgment didn't seem to be operating at full capacity, for he couldn't bring himself to call an end to it. There was one more thing he really wanted to know…only, if he asked outright what Snape had been doing talking to Lucius Malfoy, Snape would know Harry had been listening. So he started with a more general question.

"How well do you know the Malfoys?"

Snape's eyes glinted. "Well," he answered shortly.

"Um…okay. Maybe you could expand…"

"Do we need to discuss the rule regarding general questions, Mr. Potter?"

Harry held out his arms in an exaggerated shrug. "Just give me an abridged history. That's all."

Snape leaned back completely into his chair and began after a moment, "I met Lucius and Narcissa during my first year at Hogwarts. They were both older students, and thus not in my immediate circle of acquaintances. After Hogwarts, we became…close."

"Close?"

"Allies would be an appropriate term for the history of my…relationship with the Malfoys."

"So you knew Malfoy before Hogwarts? Draco, I mean."

Snape inclined his head. "He is my godson."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Wow. So you _are _pretty close, then." He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Wouldn't that make you more of friends with the Malfoys? Or family, even? 'Allies' sounds so formal."

Snape gave him another longsuffering look. "For all that you claim to have a speck of Slytherin in that head of yours, you really do think much too much like Gryffindor."

"Thank you," Harry smartly replied.

Snape ignored him. "Lucius Malfoy is nothing if not self-serving and cunning to his own ends. I had great potential in the Dark Lord's ranks. I was, in fact, rising more quickly in his esteem than many who had been with him for years. Lucius and I may have a long history together, but naming me as godfather to his son was not sentimental; it was strategic."

"Oh." It did sound Slytherin when he said it like that. Harry knew his own parents had named Sirius as his godfather because he was their closest friend. Plus, Harry had firsthand knowledge that Sirius had loved him. The idea that Malfoy had a godfather just so his father could forge a strategic alliance sounded so cold.

Harry felt a slight churning in his stomach as his thoughts veered into an unsettling realization. Draco Malfoy had everything Harry had ever lost: home, parents, godfather. Even if his father was a Death Eater and his godfather a "strategic" choice, even a traitor…he still had them. Harry didn't.

In an ideal world, wasn't love supposed to be the stronger foundation? And yet, Harry's foundation had been ripped from him while Malfoy's stood firm.

Harry felt the sudden urge to throw something. Hard.

He was jolted from his anger by the sound of Snape clearing his throat. Harry clenched his jaw against his churning emotions and tried to think quickly of how else he could get information on Lucius.

But he kept coming back to the same thought…

Was Snape Draco's Sirius?

Try as he might, he couldn't erase the waves of resentment he felt at thoughts of his two greatest Hogwarts enemies enjoying the relationship that he himself had lost. He knew it was none of his business, knew he had no right to pry, but…he had to know.

So despite himself, he found himself asking, "Are you…I mean, even if it was, um, strategic…Are you and Draco...close?"

Snape had remained fairly quiet throughout Harry's internal struggle, and he now studied him with an intensity Harry hadn't expected. Like he was trying to figure out what was going on in Harry's head. Harry kept his eyes averted.

"I expect great things from the younger Mr. Malfoy," Snape responded, neatly sidestepping the question.

"Yeah, but are you –"

"'Close' is a relative term. I have never tucked him in at night, nor do we share heart to heart chats over tea and crumpets." Snape's tone said he was quite through with the topic, and he was giving Harry a rather odd look.

"So…" Harry licked his lips, knowing he should take the hint and move on, but he'd gotten sidetracked and he still needed to get around to the topic of Lucius. "Are you still going to be…close with the Malfoys now you're not on Vold– I mean You Know Who's, um…list of trusted followers?"

Snape studied him closely, and Harry still didn't dare meet his eyes. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and studied his own hands while Snape formed a response.

Snape answer was carefully controlled. "My connection with the Malfoys was built upon a foundation of dark arts, dark masters, and self-serving motivations. Continuing an acquaintance with a known traitor would not be in Lucius Malfoy's best interests…knowledge he no doubt has already ensured his wife and son fully grasp."

Harry frowned. How could Snape answer so well, and yet not _really_ answer? It was annoying. He chanced squeezing one more question into his turn. "Um, so you're saying he would never go against You Know Who? Or would he just need a really, really good reason…?"

Snape was quiet for several moments, and Harry chanced a glance up to see what was taking so long. Snape was still, watching Harry with his usual inscrutable expression.

When Snape finally spoke, his voice was in that low growl that told Harry not to even attempt to argue. "I would suggest, Mr. Potter, that you ask Lucius Malfoy that question, as only he truly knows his own motivations. However, as you probably would not hesitate to foolhardily search him out and do precisely that, we shall consider your round of questions concluded." He paused. "I believe you have succeeded in wasting enough time. Return to your book."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered automatically, picking up the book. May as well quit while he was ahead. He could celebrate later that Snape had forgotten he had another turn left–

"Oh, and Potter?" Snape interrupted his thoughts, "My round of questions shall be considered delayed, rather than forfeited. I fully intend to collect, I assure you."

_Oh, goody._ Harry didn't feel like glaring, so he flipped to the right page and began to read again.

Scratch that. He _tried _to begin to read again. The book was just as discouraging as it had been before the distraction of talking to Snape. He may have overslept this morning, but well-rested or no, this book was making him want to go right back to sleep.

As if his thoughts had brought it on, Harry stifled a yawn. And he refocused his eyes on the open page.

_The study of Legilimency, while not crucial to the study of Occlumency, does present the opportunity for a vital analysis of the methodical differences in approach taken by…_

"Which is harder, Legilimency or Occlumency?" Harry asked aloud.

Snape raised his head to scowl across the table. "Do you think me an idiot, Potter? I am not here for your distraction, nor am I here for your amusement."

"Well, you're good at both of the, um, mental arts, right? So you should know. Which is harder?"

"If you are in such dire need of a break, go to the laboratory and begin your puffer-fish sorting. I'll expect you back in fifteen minutes to continue your reading."

"Er…no thanks. I'm at a…really good spot."

Harry sighed and tried to keep his eyes open as he re-started a paragraph he had to have read at least half a dozen times. It's just…every time he reached the end of the paragraph, he realized his mind had drifted off halfway through, leaving him unable to remember any of its contents.

"Legilimency," said Snape suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Legilimency is an offensive skill, whereas Occlumency is defensive. Most wizards who study the mental arts find Legilimency highly more difficult to master, as it requires one to not only be able to control their own minds, but also to delve into those of others. Not all Occlumens are Legilimens, whereas it is nearly always essential for a Legilimens to be skilled in Occlumency."

Staring for a moment before he realized Snape had actually answered his question, he stammered, "Oh…um, okay." Not sure what else to say, he turned back to his book.

Snape gave no indication that he had heard Harry's response, his quill furiously scratching across a half-full piece of parchment.

After that, both were silent for the remainder of the afternoon – something Harry would look back on with fondness the moment Albus Dumbledore arrived.

Because as it turned out, the headmaster had quite a few questions of his own.

….

_A/N – Wow, so much chocolate! Thanks to those who reviewed! I think perhaps I should ask for some caramel-covered reviews this time to add to the flavor. _

_And if you're reading this without submitting a review, I still thank you for reading my story! (Feel free, however, to join the reviewer ranks.) :)_


	16. Visions of Sugar Plums

_A/N: If you want to get straight to the story, skip this beginning italics section. :) _

_Draco Malfoy was mentioned in the last chapter. I feel the need to clarify: This story is not leading up to being a Draco story or a Snape/Harry/Draco story. As with many of Harry's classmates and teachers, he may be a presence if "O Mine Enemy" continues into the school year. However, regardless of any plans (or lack thereof) regarding Draco, this story is and will remain a Snape/Harry fic (in the non-slash sense)._

_Oh, and all of Harry's dreams/visions thus far are referred to in this chapter, however briefly. If you feel the need to refer back to any of them, they can be found in Chapters 1, 7, 12, and 14._

_Now…on to the story! :)_

…**..**

**Chapter Sixteen – Visions of Sugar Plums**

By the time Dumbledore arrived in the late afternoon, Harry had only read the first three chapters in his new book. Of course, he'd probably read them about 10 times each, if one counted all the pages he'd read and then re-read after realizing his wandering thoughts had kept him from actually processing anything.

So when he heard the distinct sound of someone outside the door to the kitchen, he closed his book in a hurry. No sense in starting his first Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore by making his lack of studying too apparent.

Snape noticed, of course, if his smirk was any indication. But when _didn't_ Snape notice everything around him? Harry just hoped he wouldn't spitefully suggest that Dumbledore give some kind of oral exam on his readings.

"Harry! Good to see you, my boy! And Severus," Dumbledore nodded jovially to the professor upon entering the kitchen, "I see you are working on your lesson plans. Very good, very good."

Thankfully, Dumbledore and Snape started right in on a discussion of the upcoming year's Potions curriculum, leaving Harry to enjoy the delay in starting his Occlumency lesson.

Harry sighed as he watched the professors talking. It wasn't like he _hated _Occlumency. Well…okay, so he kind of did. But he was mainly worried about how Dumbledore would try to teach him. Would he use the same attack methods that Snape had used? Harry didn't look forward to having to give up more of his memories, even if he did trust Dumbledore more than he trusted Snape.

And if he let himself admit it, he was kind of apprehensive for another reason. If he failed to learn this time, would Dumbledore come to the same conclusion that Snape had – that Harry was completely, hopelessly inept?

"…Oclumency lessons." Harry focused his eyes on the professors upon hearing the familiar words in Dumbledore's voice. "Shall we retire to the drawing room then, Harry?" The older wizard gestured to the door, and Harry gave a half-hearted smile before resignedly following him out of the room and into the hallway. The only thing he heard as he left the kitchen was the familiar scratching of Snape's quill against parchment.

"Sit, Harry, please," Dumbledore pointed to a chair when they arrived at the drawing room. He sat on the sofa opposite Harry. The table between them was already laid out with two tall glasses and a tray of assorted finger foods. "Upon my arrival, I took the liberty of requesting that Dobby provide us with a few refreshments," Dumbledore explained at Harry's curious glance.

"Oh. It, um…looks good," Harry answered. It didn't look good though, not really. His stomach was starting to knot up. Was Dumbledore going to begin by asking him about the book or by attacking his mind? Neither option sounded too appealing.

"Professor Snape has explained to you that I will be continuing your lessons, I presume?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, helping himself to some of the refreshments.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. He has."

"Good. Very good." Dumbledore reached for his glass and took a sip before continuing. "I do believe there are a few things we should discuss before we commence with these lessons."

"You mean the visions?" Harry guessed. "The ones from Voldemort? Professor Snape told me you'd want to hear about them."

Dumbledore leveled his gaze at Harry. "That is, in fact, one topic about which I would like to discuss. I was not aware that you had been having visions, Harry."

Harry looked down at the disappointment in the headmaster's tone. It was amazing how the headmaster could say what he meant without having to actually say it. Harry knew the headmaster was expressing his displeasure that Harry hadn't come to him before.

"We will discuss the specifics of your visions later, Harry," the headmaster continued at Harry's silence. "If you have indeed been having visions from Voldemort, I would like for Professor Snape to be present at your recounting."

"Why?" asked Harry. He hadn't thought about it earlier, but now…why did Snape have to be so involved in every detail of his life lately? It was starting to exhaust him, really.

"Professor Snape knows Lord Voldemort extremely well, Harry. I would like for him to hear the details of your visions in the happenstance that he has additional insight to share." Dumbledore paused, then continued, "Additionally, Harry, Professor Snape is sharing close quarters with you this summer. Should you have another vision, he will likely be the only one around."

Harry nodded. That, he unfortunately knew.

"We will revisit this before I leave today," the headmaster added, "but while we are alone, I want you to give your word to me that should you have another vision from Voldemort, you will immediately inform Professor Snape."

Harry looked up, dread on his face. "Can't I just firecall you? Or Remus? Why does it have to be him?"

"Your word, Harry," Dumbledore pressed intently, "Day or night, I want your word that you will go to him straightaway with any more visions."

"From Voldemort," Harry clarified, suddenly thinking of his other dreams. He didn't know if he could call them visions, exactly…to tell the truth, he had no idea what to call them. But he wasn't eager to promise the sharing of those, especially as he hadn't given much of his _own_ waking time to thinking them over.

"Yes, Harry, from Voldemort." The headmaster gave him a searching look but made no further comment.

Harry nodded again, grudgingly. "Okay, alright. I promise."

"Excellent. Now, what I wanted to speak with you about –"

"That wasn't it?"

"No, my dear boy, although we may want to have a chat sometime about the inappropriateness of interrupting one's elders."

Harry flushed, though from Dumbledore's smiling eyes, he could tell he was being teased, not lectured.

"I want to speak with you about a rather delicate matter," the headmaster went on, the smile fading from his eyes. "I sent someone to have a little…chat with your relatives this past week."

Harry felt his face drain of color. "You what?"

"As you left their household so abruptly, I felt it necessary to send someone to explain to them that you were with friends and would not be returning for the remainder of holiday."

"Oh," Harry replied simply, recovering from his surprise at the topic. The Dursleys had been the absolute last thing on his mind. And he wasn't sure how he felt about another wizard going to meet them…especially if they had gone out of courtesy. He couldn't help but add, "I bet they weren't happy to hear that."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that all concerned were satisfied with your temporary move."

"I meant they wouldn't be happy to hear I was with friends," Harry explained darkly. "You'd have made them loads happier if you'd told them I was captured by dark wizards or something."

Dumbledore made no reply to that. He merely sipped from his tall glass. After a moment, he spoke again, calmly. "My representative was not welcomed with open arms, to say the least. However, he was able to relay the message. He also managed to very firmly discuss what would happen if they were to ever attempt to harm you again."

"Yeah, well, threats never did much good, you know," Harry felt the need to point out. "Moody threatened them, and it only took them a bit longer to get nasty." Then he registered Dumbledore's phrasing, and he felt a horrible rising suspicion. "Wait a minute, you said 'again.' I thought I didn't have to go back there."

"You are correct; you will not return this summer. You have fortunately remained there long enough for the blood magic to be renewed. As for next summer…" Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, I cannot make any promises to you in that regard. Depending upon the status of the war and the extent of danger to you, you may very well need to return to the Dursleys for a short time in order to be safe."

"What?" Harry stood, a sudden fury taking over. "When have I ever been safe there? Just a few days ago, you said it wasn't in my best interests to go back! Snape told you what they were like! Snape, who hates me," he raged, "told you how bad they are! And now you're saying, after knowing all that, you're just going to send me back anyway?"

"Harry, we have an entire year to discuss –"

"RIGHT." Harry's voice rose to a shout, though images of the headmaster's office last year surfaced briefly before he pushed them aside. This was different. This was worse. "BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT WILL REALLY HAPPEN, WON'T IT? WE'LL DISCUSS, BUT THEN YOU'LL MAKE THE DECISION! AND THERE WILL BE NOTHING I CAN SAY TO CHANGE IT!"

"Harry, sit down –"

"WHY SHOULD I?"

The answer came from behind an opening drawing room door. "Because you're yelling down the bloody house, Potter." Snape peered stiffly through the narrow opening. "What in Merlin's name – Is everything quite alright, Albus?"

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore sighed wearily. "A minor disagreement. We'll be fine, thank you."

"Minor?" Harry backed away from where Dumbledore still sat. "This isn't minor! THIS IS MY LIFE!"

"Harry, please sit down." Dumbledore spoke softly, as if saying it louder might cause him physical pain.

Harry didn't sit; he remained standing where he was, the anger of betrayal boiling inside him. _Just when I'd decided I really could trust him_. He clamped his lips firmly together. Dumbledore didn't want him to yell? Fine. Let the old man speak.

But Snape spoke first, criticism in his voice, "This is the selfsame headmaster you claimed to 'respect,' Potter? You clearly have little concept of what that term implies."

"Severus." Dumbledore held up a hand to silence Snape, his eyes never straying from Harry's furious gaze. "Harry has a right to be upset. I only ask that he hear me out."

Harry kept silent, afraid of what might come poring out if he opened his tightly closed lips.

Snape looked from Dumbledore to Harry and back again, then backed out of the room without a word.

Harry couldn't help what he did next.

He didn't give himself time to think about it, even. He opened those tightly closed lips, not even caring that it was _Snape_ he was calling out to, and yelled, "He's sending me back! You saw what it's like there! Tell him he can't send me back!"

The retreating professor paused, hand on the doorknob, before turning slowly around to set puzzled eyes on Harry.

Harry felt his face redden. He hadn't meant to sound pleading. And he couldn't believe he'd just asked Snape, of all people, for help. But…Snape _had_ taken him away from them. It stood to reason he might be able to keep him from going back.

Dumbledore's voice cut through the awkward moment, weariness shining through in every syllable, "Harry, I am not suggesting that you return anytime soon. I am not even saying that you ever will. I simply need for you to be prepared for the possibility that you may not be safe anywhere else."

Harry gaped. And he gave voice to what was really bothering him – something that bothered him a dozen times more than the Dursleys themselves ever could. "_Safe_? I know that you _know_ now! You know they starve me and that my uncle hit me and that they treat me like a house-elf, all things you claim not to have known before! How can you say I'd be _safe_? You even admitted less than a week ago that it wasn't the best place for me! And now you're going back on it!"

"I did not say for certain that you will –"

"Fine! You said 'maybe' I'll go back! Don't you see? It doesn't make a difference if you've decided for sure! The fact that you're even _considering_ it –" Harry broke off, anger preventing him from continuing without yelling. He took a deep breath, trying to stave off the yelling for once.

"I am to understand this…altercation is over a suggestion to return Mr. Potter to his relatives' home," Snape stated, not asking, as it was pretty clear that was the case.

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You may as well enter, Severus, as Harry has made it clear you are not an unwelcome participant in this conversation."

Snape accepted the invitation without hesitation, stepping into the room completely, and closed the door behind him. Just as well, thought Harry. An open, unguarded door could prove too tempting an escape.

The man stood just inside the room, declining a seat, and stiffly crossed his arms over his chest. Harry couldn't tell by Snape's controlled expression what he thought of the situation. He just counted himself fortunate that his professor hadn't yet insisted that the headmaster send him back right away due to his insolence.

Harry quickly rummaged through his mind for something, someway to make Dumbledore understand how horrible it was to contemplate going back to the Dursleys ever again after finally feeling reassured that he was done with them once and for all. Anything…

"They kept me in a cupboard!" he burst out impulsively.

"Pardon?" Snape was the one who asked; Dumbledore hadn't said anything for several seconds and looked rather exhausted.

"Before I got my Hogwarts letter, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs. I wasn't allowed a bedroom, and they locked me in, sometimes for days at a time, and they didn't always give me food when they did, either, and I only got Dudley's second bedroom when they thought wizards might find out, and –"

"Harry…Harry, my child," interrupted Dumbledore, who had risen during Harry's rambling to walk over to him. He reached out a hand, and Harry flinched, jumping back from the contact. He glared at the headmaster as he edged further away, toward the door, though it was hard to glare what with trying to keep his fraying emotions from showing.

"You can't send me back there," Harry whispered, still backing away, "because now you know how much they hate me, if you send me back, I'll know that all you care about is my bloody role in this war. I'll know you don't care a flip about _me_."

As angry as he was, as soon as those words left Harry's mouth, he felt a pang of regret…which worsened as he witnessed Dumbledore's face seeming to age before his eyes. He was even almost sure he detected a touch of grief in the wizard's eyes.

A throat cleared immediately behind Harry, and he jumped, spinning around. In his inching away from Dumbledore, he'd very nearly backed into Snape. The dark man loomed above him, perhaps more intimidating right then because of Harry's overwrought state. The Potions Professor's mask of indifference was still in place, but as he met Harry's eyes, Harry thought he saw a flicker of emotion. But it was an emotion he couldn't identify. He started to back away from him, too, before he realized that would just bring him closer to Dumbledore. So he simply pivoted to face the headmaster, deciding at that moment he preferred close proximity even to Snape than to Dumbledore.

"Harry…" Dumbledore finally spoke, "I…am so sorry for all that you have been through. It was never my intention for you to be hurt such as you were. I knew it was not ideal, that is true…but you are correct; I now possess more information than I did. And, as we would all do well to remember, with more knowledge comes greater responsibility."

Harry couldn't have interrupted if he'd wanted to. He finally just listened to the headmaster's words.

"You are under the misunderstanding, Harry, that I underestimate that responsibility. Please believe me when I state that should circumstances necessitate your return to the Dursleys' home, you would not go as unprotected as you have in past years."

Harry regarded him skeptically, the headmaster's words grabbing his attention nonetheless. "What do you mean?" he managed to ask, allowing his skepticism to drip through his question.

Dumbledore gestured to the chair. "Now that I believe you may listen, I think we might all prefer to be more comfortable."

"No, thanks."

Dumbledore sat anyway, returning to his seat on the sofa and helping himself to a long drink from his glass. "Severus?" he addressed Snape, offering him a seat on the other end of the sofa.

Harry watched the Potions master walk over to the proffered seat with a little bit of envy. He should have sat down when he'd had a chance. With all his shakiness, he suddenly noticed his legs were pretty tired. Too late now, though. His pride wouldn't let him give in.

Snape sat on the sofa, sitting up straight…business-like, Harry thought, like he wasn't looking to get too comfortable. Harry looked away quickly as Snape raised his head to catch Harry staring at him.

"Sit, Potter," Snape ordered. "Your anger with the headmaster is no excuse for impudence."

Harry's anger resurfaced, and he opened his mouth to tell Snape just where he could put his "impudence," but when he took in the man's face, his words didn't come. Snape wasn't smirking. He wasn't sneering either, and he wasn't looking down his nose at Harry. He just looked…normal. Not normal for Snape, but…well, almost normal for a teacher who'd just heard a student say he'd been raised in a cupboard. He looked…unsettled.

Harry felt unsettled, too. So, pride or no, he found himself walking over to sit in the chair. He sunk into it and crossed his arms defensively.

He cleared his throat. "What do you mean?" he asked again, calmer this time, eyes focused on the unappetizing platter of food between himself and his professors.

"Several thoughts have entered my mind," Dumbledore began slowly, "although I had generally planned to discuss specifics with you as the school year progressed. I…thought perhaps you might have some suggestions as to a way we might ensure that you remained safe with your relatives."

"What ideas have you already thought of?" Harry asked, ready to make Dumbledore prove he'd already put some thought into this.

Dumbledore gladly rose to the occasion. "One idea I had was to send you to them with a houseguest to keep an eye on the situation. A friend, perhaps. An of age and armed friend, of course, so as to allow for proper protection."

"A friend," repeated Harry. He frowned. It might work. But would they have to see the same embarrassing things that Snape had seen as his 'houseguest'? "Um…yeah, that makes sense…" Harry conceded, thinking it through as he spoke toward the food on the table, "but it wouldn't make them hate me any less. Erm…like finding Professor Snape in the house…see, it kind of just made Uncle Vernon angrier."

Dumbledore looked to Snape, then. "Your opinion, Severus?"

Snape thought for a moment before answering, his features carefully schooled. Harry couldn't help wondering if he were wishing he weren't here. He felt another rush of embarrassment at knowing that the professor was here because Harry had practically begged him to be.

"I concur with Mr. Potter's assessment," Snape finally responded. Harry looked up quickly. Had Snape just _agreed _with him? "His uncle, in particular, does not seem able to comprehend the art of civility or rationality in regard to his nephew, predominantly in the face of a perceived threat. A wizard guardian may serve to keep the physical abuse at bay, but I expect it would merely aggravate the situation were the guardian to let Mr. Potter out of their sight."

Harry relaxed a bit into his chair. He supposed anything Snape said shouldn't make him feel relieved, but it did. Despicable Potions master or no, he seemed to already have a basic understanding of Vernon Dursley – which helped when Dumbledore was more likely to listen to a fellow professor than a student. For the first time, Harry was kind of glad he'd asked Snape to stay.

Dumbledore nodded sadly in response to Snape's words. "A second option would be to have a wizard check in periodically, but if, as you say, a full-time wizard would be akin to "stirring up a horntail's nest," I expect that would not be the best option either." Dumbledore leaned forward then, searching Harry's eyes. "As I explained before, we have the entire school year to discuss. We do not have to decide anything anytime soon. I do, however, hope that I have been able to convince you that should you ever need to go back, Harry, I would not allow you to go back without some recourse available to you. You understand now, Harry, that I am not approaching the situation haphazardly without concern for your welfare…don't you?"

Dumbledore was almost pleading for Harry to understand, and Harry found himself nodding…half from exhaustion after arguing and half because he _was_ starting to understand. It didn't make him happy, but knowing that Dumbledore at least had thought about the need for some kind of additional provision or protection for Harry made him a little less upset.

"Before we proceed to another topic, Harry," Dumbledore began hesitantly, "I would like to ask you if there is anything else about your life at the Dursleys that we should possibly need to know about."

Harry shook his head automatically before Dumbledore had finished speaking. "No, sir."

"You are quite certain?"

"Nothing else, sir," Harry answered without meeting his eyes.

Dumbledore paused as if considering his next words. "Harry…I did not know the degree to which the Dursleys mistreated you. In years past I have seen a boy not quite so loved or as well cared for as he should have been. And I now know what Severus was able to recount from his own observations. But this…this is the first time you have personally confided an instance of their abuse to me." He paused to take in Harry's now rigid form and averted eyes. "Considering all of this, it seems logical for me to assume that there may be more history that you have not shared."

Harry was shaking his head again. "No, sir," he said simply, sorely wishing he'd kept his mouth shut about the cupboard. It had seemed so necessary at the time to make Dumbledore understand how much the Dursleys hated him…but now he felt like sinking into his chair in humiliation.

"I do think perhaps you should speak with someone, Harry, even if you refuse to confide in me."

"Why?" Harry wasn't being impertinent…he looked up in genuine confusion at Dumbledore's statement. What good would talking about something that had already happened do? He knew his relatives hated him, but he also knew he didn't deserve anything they'd done or said. "I'm not a head case, Professor," he felt the need to point out. "I don't need therapy or anything. I'm fine."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, which Harry didn't avoid this time. Maybe if Harry looked right at him, he'd believe that Harry really was okay.

Dumbledore nodded, finally, though his eyes still held sadness. "On to another topic, perhaps?"

Harry sighed in relief at the reprieve from talking further about the Dursleys.

"I do think that perhaps our Occlumency lesson will need to be postponed. What I had in mind for our first lesson will require much more concentration than either of us possesses at this moment. So," Dumbledore continued, "why don't you begin tonight on your own by trying out the first three exercises in chapter five?"

Harry nodded, trying to look like he knew what the headmaster was talking about…seeing as he hadn't gotten past chapter three.

He made a point not to look at Snape right then, not really caring to find out for himself if the man was smirking, sneering, or sporting an all-knowing look.

"Very good," Dumbledore nodded. "Now. As Professor Snape is here with us, I do think we should proceed with a discussion of your visions." He paused, and Harry got the feeling he was trying to proceed slowly, maybe to calm the still tense mood of the room. He questioned gently, "How many visions have you had from Voldemort since the beginning of holiday, Harry?

Harry thought a minute, shifting gears into this new, though not much safer, topic of conversation. "Um…four, I guess. Three at the Dursleys, one since I got here."

Dumbledore motioned for him to elaborate.

"Um, well, okay…I had one the first week of summer. He was torturing someone…" Harry swallowed. "…a muggleborn, I think. The next one wasn't really clear – he was happy about something, that's all I know. He was congratulating one of his Death Eaters, but I couldn't tell who it was. The, um, third was the morning Professor Snape showed up and I saw Voldemort torturing him and his escape. And um…the fourth was a few nights ago, when he realized I wasn't at the Dursleys anymore."

He waited for the lecturing to begin again about how he should have told them all about his visions before, but thankfully, the lectures didn't come. Of course, he'd been scolded by both professors already; maybe they figured the message didn't need repeating. For whatever the reason, Dumbledore only proceeded to ask questions about his visions, Snape cutting in occasionally to clarify.

Did he recognize the muggleborn Voldemort was torturing?

No.

Did he recognize anything about the Death Eater he was congratulating?

No.

Did he recognize Snape in his third vision?

No…not until he showed up at the Dursleys.

What was the Dark Lord's emotional state at the time?

Exhilarated. Happy. Happy again, then angry. Then _really_ angry.

And so it continued, until Harry felt properly worn out by the questions and he could tell that Snape, at least, was visibly frustrated by how little he could tell them from his visions. Well, Harry figured, it wasn't like any of them were very long – they were just little snippets, really!

And it was kind of confusing Harry…shouldn't they be happy he hadn't had longer, more detailed visions? It was something they were striving to control by forcing him to learn Occlumency, after all…wasn't it?

When he voiced as much, Dumbledore rushed to assure him, "Of course we want you to learn to control this connection, Harry. Ideally, you would have nothing to share with us today. However, as your control has not increased and you _are_ having these visions, there is no sense in ignoring them. Do not misunderstand this, Harry," he stressed, meeting Harry's eyes, "Learning to control this connection is infinitely more important than gleaning information from Lord Voldemort's mind, particularly as he has proven himself competent in sending you false visions from time to time."

Harry nodded in understanding. When he thought of that one false vision that ended Sirius' life and changed his own, he couldn't argue with the headmaster's logic.

"I must admit to being puzzled by one thing more, Harry. Professor Snape explained to me this morning that he woke you from a rather alarming nightmare while at your relatives' home." Dumbledore watched him closely. "You did not reference that night in the summary of your visions…"

Harry felt heat climbing up his neck. "No, sir. It was just, um…a dream."

"You're sure?" he pressed.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"If I might inquire…" Snape cut in. "The state Mr. Potter was in prior to waking would suggest no ordinary dream. As a matter of fact, in light of his refusal to notify anyone of his other visions, I find it hard to believe that this one was in no way related to his connection with the Dark Lord."

"It wasn't!" Harry insisted before Dumbledore could respond. "I'd know, wouldn't I? My scar didn't hurt – it didn't even twinge. It was just a really bad nightmare! But…I'm okay now, and we really should just, um, move on." He hoped they would take the hint. Images of his nightmare were starting to swim before his eyes, and he really, really didn't want to relive something so horrible ever again.

But then, when had Snape ever 'taken a hint' when Harry wanted him to?

"Potter," Snape began, his lecturing-professor voice perfectly in place, "I am fully aware that you are under the assumption that you are capable of judging what is relevant to this war. Allow me to correct that assumption: you are not. By withholding any and all information from us of your visions, you have already proven yourself lacking in that department. As such, you will allow the headmaster and myself to judge what may or may not be significant."

Harry glared, but his heart wasn't in it. He was already tired from arguing about the Dursleys and then relaying his other visions, and all he worried about right then was how he could possibly get out of talking about his strange new dreams.

However, judging by the stubborn set of Snape's jaw, he figured he'd be more likely to get out of a detention with Filch than out of this conversation.

Harry sighed as he realized his own tiredness was working in Snape's favor this time. He was simply too tired to fight. The only thing more exhausting than having to read a thick book about a subject you couldn't care a flip about was having to relay, in detail, every dream you'd had since school let out. It was downright embarrassing, too.

"Fine," he gave in, ducking his head and wearily leaning into his chair. "What do you want to know?" All he could hope was that it wouldn't take too long.

"Simply tell us your dream," Dumbledore urged gently. "Start at the beginning, please."

Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts. He truly hadn't thought about the dream very much at all. Other than the most horrifying images, which swam before his eyes even now, the rest was almost a blur. "I, um…I remember chasing after a snitch. I'm not sure how long I chased it, but I think it's what led me to Hogwarts. No, Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade first." He swallowed, and he paused to brace himself before explaining the horrors he'd never forget.

He must have paused a little too long, because Dumbledore urged, "Go on, Harry. What happened next in your dream?"

Harry shifted. His chair was starting to feel uncomfortable. "I saw...people. They were all dead. And there were ruins, like the town had been burnt to the ground." He hurried on before he could be consumed by the images and the memory of the smoke. "And I saw Hogwarts, too. It was gone, just like Hogsmeade. And I saw my friends –" He stopped, horrified when he heard his voice crack on that last word. He cleared his throat and continued right away to cover it up, refusing to detail exactly what he had seen and smelled. "I think I was dreaming that we lost the war…and that Voldemort had won."

"And that is when you woke Professor Snape," Dumbledore prodded gently.

Harry flushed at remembering. Well, at least Dumbledore had had the grace not to point out Harry's terrified screaming.

"Yeah…" Harry answered, though he hesitated, his face forming into a frown. Wasn't he forgetting something? Something else…_someone_ else…

He actually felt his own eyes light up in remembrance as something came rushing back to him. "No! No, that wasn't it. There was another me there, too. I was floating there in midair, looking down at Hogwarts, and this…myself…I flew up to me and started talking."

"Merlin preserve us," Snape inserted dryly, "two Harry Potters. A nightmare indeed. Little wonder it was upsetting."

"Yeah, well, there wasn't any Snape, so it was a lot better than it could have been," Harry shot back. He guessed he wasn't ever too tired to get his hackles up by the thoroughly irritating man.

"_Professor _Snape, _Mr._ Potter," Snape answered neutrally. "Even in your dreams, you would do well to remember those pesky little things called manners and respect."

"Yeah, well, seeing as how you're just as nasty in dreams as you are in the real world, forgive me if I don't think you deserve it."

But Snape ignored the blatant rudeness to mockingly raise his eyebrows. "Why, Potter. You _do_ dream of me, then? How…touching."

Harry felt his face begin to redden, and not entirely out of anger, when Dumbledore finally decided to step in to get them back on track. "Harry. Your dream…?" he reminded patiently.

Harry was a little surprised, actually, to see that the headmaster didn't look all that bothered by his rather rude exchange with Snape. In fact, Harry could almost swear that somewhere in the back of Dumbledore's deep blue eyes, he looked slightly…pleased. Harry shook his head. He couldn't wager the slightest guess what Dumbledore could possible have found to be happy about. So he didn't even try.

Forcing his mind back to the topic at hand, he continued as best he could. "The other me…um, he said he was a part of me, that he could, erm…see the future." He watched his professors carefully for reactions. He needed to know what they thought of that claim. He needed to know, because parts of last night's dream were starting to come back to him as well…and the main thing he was remembering was that it had been so incredibly real.

He saw something in Snape's eyes flicker at mention of the future, but nothing else showed in the two men's expressions. So he continued, barely noticing as his own voice dropped to a whisper. "He said that Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, all…that…happened because I had failed to defeat Voldemort."

"Harry…" Dumbledore waited until Harry looked up to meet his eyes, then continued, "You have had to bear a mighty burden – something much too large for one so young. I am very sorry for that. Naturally, this anxiety…and your need to protect your loved ones…has poured over into your dreams."

Harry nodded, his heart not really in it. Yes, that was the logical explanation. Much more logical than believing he really did have some kind of Other Harry who brought him dreams of the future. But…something inside Harry – something he had been ignoring – kind of didn't like the logical explanation. Something inside him was starting to wonder if they could really be as real as they seemed.

What? Real visions of the future? He may as well check himself into St. Mungo's in the morning, he thought as he shook the absurd thoughts out of his head.

"…to do with Lord Voldemort, Severus." Harry registered that Dumbledore had already been speaking to Snape, and he quickly focused on paying attention as the headmaster continued, "The dream really does seem straightforward in nature, clearly Harry's way of dealing with the stress of the wizarding world's expectations of him."

"I disagree," argued Snape vehemently. "Visions of the future? This is precisely the way the Dark Lord would choose to confuse our efforts! Convincing Potter, dream by dream, that he is capable of accurately seeing future events unfold is well and good in an 'Arrogant Potter' fashion. However, the moment Potter truly begins to believe in these 'visions,' the Dark Lord will strike. Perhaps he will send a vision in order to force our efforts into a certain direction. Or perhaps he intends only to drive Potter insane, leaving us with a muddled boy all the more easy to capture and control!"

"Visions?" was Dumbledore's only response to Snape's tirade. "Harry has only relayed the one. He has hardly been developing a pattern. This _is_ the only dream such as this that you have had, is it not, Harry?"

He directed the last question back to Harry, who had been listening to Snape's words with a growing sense of dread. Could it really be Voldemort? He hadn't thought… His scar hadn't hurt…

"Harry?"

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, then croaked, "N-no, Professor. I had one kind of like it last night. He…my other self, he was back. And he told me a lot more…"

Dumbledore and Snape looked much too serious for Harry's comfort as the former urged him to explain his most recent dream.

He averted his eyes, trying to get it all out in one go. "I was in a basement. It was dark, and I was there…another me, I mean. But not the 'other me.' It was another 'other me.'" He took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. Before one of the no-doubt confused professors could question or before Snape could comment on yet a third nightmarish Potter, he tried again. "Okay, so I was sitting there, in the dark, and I was cold, and my other self – the one from my other dream – showed up with a lumos. He started talking to me, and he told me to explore the basement, and when I did, I saw…_another_ me…only, this me was a prisoner. He wasn't asleep, but he wasn't awake. He was breathing, but just staring, not seeing…" Harry shuddered.

"Severus?" Dumbledore questioned quietly before Harry could continue. Harry didn't understand what he was asking until Snape answered.

"The description is in accord with the expected effects of the potion I brewed for the Dark Lord," Snape confirmed, hard features impassive.

"So…" Harry continued, a little shaky, "then Other Harry and I started talking. Oh, I guess I kept thinking of him as 'Other Harry.' So, um…he told me that…" Harry scrunched up his face, trying to remember exactly what he had said. It was only the night before… And then he remembered. He was surprised at how well he remembered, actually. "He told me that seeing the future was tricky – that Hogsmeade and Hogwarts from my other dream were only possibilities that would happen if we lost the war, but that me being in that basement…that…Voldemort was going to capture me and get my blood, and that couldn't be changed."

Harry realized as he waited for his professors to speak that he had started shivering. He held his arms tightly across his chest to ward off the chill, but it didn't help. It wouldn't, he supposed. The chill wasn't in the air; it was coming from inside himself.

"Was there anything else, Harry?"

"Um…" He racked his brain for anything else in answer to the headmaster. Like last time, he knew there was more…but he had to think before he could remember. "Well, um…I guess I should tell you how real it was… I mean, I knew while I was there – both dreams – that it was a dream. I knew before I woke up that it wasn't real, but…it was like I was physically there. I could see and hear and feel and even smell…_everything_. It…it was just so real," he repeated, almost plaintively.

He raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, needing to see that he understood. It just seemed very important right then that the headmaster understand how _real_ it was.

Dumbledore nodded, then merely asked, "Was there more in the dream?"

"I asked the other me for proof," Harry offered. "He said he was real, and I told him I needed proof."

"And did he give you proof, Harry?"

"No." Harry was surprised that he felt let down. He wasn't supposed to…it was a dream. It wasn't _supposed _to be real. "He just handed me a snitch and told me to trust and something about instincts, and then he left. That's all."

The room was silent for several seconds as Harry waited for one of the professors to speak.

Snape broke the silence. "Surely you see now, Albus, the danger we are presented with if Mr. Potter continues to have these dreams, particularly if they have anything whatsoever to do with the Dark Lord. Potter is obviously is tending toward believing in them."

"I am not!" Harry automatically denied.

Both professors ignored Harry's denial. Actually, they ignored Harry altogether, to his utter infuriation.

"Perhaps, Severus, but what good can possibly come of convincing Harry that he will be captured?"

"How many times have we not understood the Dark Lord's methods until he has completed his plans, Albus? Knowledge of what he hopes to attain through this is not what concerns me at this juncture. We already know that nothing he is planning can be good. Stopping him is all that matters."

"And what do you suggest we do? Dose Harry with a pint of dreamless sleep potion nightly?" Dumbledore's tone clearly expressed his displeasure at that possibility.

"Of course not! A potions addict is hardly what Potter needs to become on top of his other failings! What he needs is to become adept at Occlumency, to block out these visions immediately."

Harry piped up, curiosity winning out over his annoyance at his professors. A question had arisen – a question he couldn't help but ask… "What if...I mean, just _what if_ these are real? I'm not saying I believe they are!" Harry rushed to say at Snape's I-told-you-so look. "I, um…just wondered…if they were real, and this erm…Other Harry really is a part of myself…like an inner voice or something…well, just _if_ it were true…would Occlumency work against _myself_?"

As soon as he'd asked the question and was faced with two staring professors, he wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. Dumbledore's look of concern was only overshadowed by Snape's look of urgency. Apparently he'd just proved to them that their theories were right – that Harry was in danger of believing Voldemort's newest set of tricks.

He sank into his chair in embarrassment. "Are we done yet?" he asked wearily, just wanting it to be over at last.

Thankfully, Dumbledore listened and agreed. "Yes, Harry. I do believe we have exhausted ourselves quite enough for one day. Professor Snape and I, of course, will need to speak more about the situation and devise a proper solution. You, however, have done quite well. Thank you, Harry."

Harry just nodded.

"I could do with a spot of pudding, actually. Couldn't you both?" Dumbledore inquired, purposely lighter.

"No," was Snape's short response, but mere minutes later, they all nonetheless found themselves with plates of sugar plum pudding in their hands

Snape quickly placed his onto the table, untouched.

"Compliments of Mrs. Weasley," Dumbledore explained, eyes starting to twinkle. "I find it quite delicious, don't you, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied obediently as he took a bite. Mmm, it _was_ good. He remembered, then, that Mrs. Weasley had sent him some along with Ron's birthday present. He'd forgotten about it, and he'd never eaten it. He wrinkled his nose at realizing that it must still be in his trunk. Ew… Well, at least the most likely spoiled dessert was in a closed container.

Fortunately, it didn't spoil his appetite. The pudding was too good for that, he thought as he took another bite. And it was nice to have something pleasant to focus on after so much seriousness.

Snape, on the other hand, looked about to lose whatever contents he had in his stomach, and Harry wondered what the man had against dessert, anyway. He'd turned down chocolate cake at Harry's "birthday party," and now pudding? Harry shrugged. Well, his loss, really. But Harry couldn't help wondering what the man _would_ consider a decent dessert. Hmm…he probably ate weird potions ingredients late at night in his lab. _Yeah_, Harry decided, feeling a bit happier at having something funny to imagine about Snape, _that must be what made him so greasy and git-like: too many late night puffer-fish snacks_.

Ugh. Still, Harry grinned a little as he reached for a glass.

Dumbledore winked at seeing him smile, his own eyes twinkling. "Sugar plums, Harry. It's all about the sugar plums!" He then raised his glass in a mock toast and drank the few sips he had left.

"Sugar plums?" Harry repeated dumbly, smile leaving his face as suddenly as it had appeared. Dumbledore's words repeated in his head, over and over and over. _Sugar plums. It's all about the sugar plums._ And Harry felt his heart begin to pound in his chest as a memory came back to him. They were the very words he had heard Dumbledore say in the golden snitch in his dream back at the Dursleys! Meaningless words, really, but it was the whole scene – the way Dumbledore had winked, his facial expressions, even the mock toast – everything was how he had seen it in the dream.

Everything.

He'd forgotten, but now he remembered it with startling clarity.

Harry felt like the world was getting fuzzy, or moving in slow motion. It had to be a coincidence…right? It was such a mundane comment. He couldn't possibly have really seen the future!

…right?

He couldn't speak, his mind racing too fast to keep up with. He focused on the two men, listening but not really hearing what was being said, as Dumbledore goaded Snape into eating the dessert.

And then Snape opened his mouth to speak, and Harry heard a second set of familiar words as if in slow motion: "I'd prefer moldy cabbages boiled in beetle stew." And Snape brushed his hair away from his face, crossing his arms in a silent refusal to touch Mrs. Weasley's concoction.

Harry's glass slipped through his hands, breaking on the edge of the table before crashing to the floor.

He'd seen the future...

He'd actually _seen the future_.

….

_A/N: Thank you, thank you for all the delicious reviews! Over 500 now!_

_I must say, when I requested chocolate and caramel, you all exceeded my wildest expectations! Not only did I get plenty of each of those, you also gave me chocolate strawberries, caramel covered chocolate, caramel coated chocolate with a strawberry center, a huge dollop of strawberry sauce, Reese's cup (I love peanut butter!), caramel covered chocolate frogs (oh and yes, I would accept dill pickles), mint chocolate, other multi-flavored chocolates for variety, skittles, and even a super heavy box with caramel seeping from the corners! Oh – and a promise of penguin shaped waffles if I write fast enough. _

_When I started this story, I never thought it would make me so hungry. ;)_


	17. The Second Prophecy

**Chapter Seventeen – The Second Prophecy**

Harry barely registered the sound of breaking glass as his mind seemingly raced into a thousand different directions all at once.

He'd seen the future.

It was real.

Hogsmeade, Hogwarts…?

No! Those were only possibilities – Other Harry had said so.

But Voldemort – the basement. The certainty of capture, of Voldemort gaining strength.

And he heard Dumbledore then, only it wasn't within his thoughts. He was calling Harry's name, asking if he was alright. He sounded worried.

Harry looked up, coming to himself. "I saw the future," he whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. "I really saw the future!"

Dumbledore had half arisen out of his seat at Harry's initial lack of response, and he now rose completely, moving around to Harry's side.

Snape only stared, not bothering to hide his concern. _Not concern for me,_ Harry thought through his muddied state. _No, never concern for me…concern that Voldemort's taking me over…_

"Just now, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, neatly sidestepping the broken glass and kneeling next to his chair. "You had a vision just now?"

"No…" Harry shook his head to clear it. He needed to think. Or he needed to stop thinking so many things at once. "Before. In my dreams." He turned to the headmaster then, urgency in his voice, "Before, Professor, in my dream! The other me handed me a snitch, and I had forgotten, but it came back just now – the snitch swirled, all these colors, and _you_ appeared, and I saw you say just what you said, the bit about the sugar plums, and the wink, and the toast! I saw it before it happened!"

Snape leaned forward then, too, though he didn't rise from his seat. "It is common enough to comment on pudding, Potter. You had received some that very night, had you not?"

Harry nodded, his mind still racing despite his attempts to slow it down.

"Well, there you have it," Snape returned crisply. "Put the two together, and it is not at all difficult to imagine that you –"

"But I saw you, too!" Harry interrupted to point out, feeling the beginnings of desperation set in. Would they refuse to believe him? He _knew_ what he saw!

Snape was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"The second dream! When I asked for proof, remember? Remember I told you I asked for proof? And all he did was give me a snitch, and it changed colors, like before, and this time _you _appeared, and you said the bit about the cabbages and the beetle stew, and you crossed your arms just so! I didn't know it then, but he _was _giving me proof! He was giving me glimpses of the future so I'd believe him! The visions – they're real, don't you see?"

He watched his professors exchange a look during his speech, and what he saw didn't encourage him. "You don't believe me!" He stood, stepping over the glass on the floor so that he'd have room to pace. "It's true! I swear! How could I have seen exactly what you were both saying…and in the same conversation, too!"

"Harry," Dumbledore began soothingly, "We believe that _you_ believe your visions to be true. Please understand…we cannot put absolute faith in the infallibility of these dreams based solely on one conversation about sugar plum pudding."

Harry paced faster, and he was ashamed to feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. They had to believe him. They just had to!

They had to, because, to tell the truth…Harry was scared. He didn't know what was going on, or what to believe, and he couldn't handle this one alone. He needed his professors. He needed Dumbledore…and…he needed Snape, too.

"Harry, please sit. You'll wear a hole in your own feet if you continue on with your pacing. We'll talk this through. We'll get to the bottom of this, I swear to you."

_Tell Dumbledore…tell Dumbledore._ The words were repeating over and over through Harry's mind. Other Harry had told him to tell Dumbledore something. What was it? What was he supposed to tell him?

"Potter, sit down," came a surprisingly gentle voice. Harry stopped. He'd heard that voice before. Well, of course he had; it was Snape's. But he was shocked by the distinct thought that he'd heard that gentleness in his voice before. Not awake – not ever awake. In a dream, maybe? But he couldn't pinpoint it.

His head was hurting, and his feet were hurting. So he heeded the both comforting and strange tone of the familiar voice and sat down.

_Tell Dumbledore…tell Dumbledore…_

And all at once, it hit him.

The prophecy!

He raised his head, needing to see that he had his professors' attentions before saying what he needed to say. Dumbledore was still kneeling next to his chair, where he had never left, even during Harry's frantic pacing. Snape was watching Harry, eyes searching his face.

But he looked into Dumbledore's to say what he needed to say. He spoke calmly now, deliberately, intently, "Professor, you have to listen to me. In my dream, he gave me a message to tell you. He told me there was another prophecy, one made after Voldemort gave me this scar. He said you didn't show it to me because you knew it wasn't about me; it was about someone else."

As soon as Harry said those words, he knew that it was true. Dumbledore's face betrayed it. As good as he was at hiding his emotions when needed, the headmaster could not have expected for Harry to say what he had said. His eyes betrayed his shock. And, as unsettling as it was to see, Harry also saw a tinge of fear.

He continued, more confident now that he _knew_ his dream self had been right. "He said to tell you about him – about the Other Harry. And he said to tell you that he'd seen the future unfold, and to let the prophecy run its course. And he said…he said you'd be able to explain the rest." He was breathless by the end, but he nonetheless held his breath to see how Dumbledore would respond.

The room was silent for several long moments before Snape finally questioned incredulously, "It's not true, of course, Albus? The sheer impossibility of it being true…"

"It is true," confirmed Dumbledore, rising to his feet and vanishing the broken glass with a flick of his wand before walking deliberately back to his own seat. He said nothing, simply thinking behind his unfocused eyes.

"B-but that's impossible!" Snape protested. "He could not have known…_I_ did not even know!"

"I did, though!" Harry insisted, as if he hadn't already proven that he did. "I saw it in my dream! Do you believe me now?"

Snape looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Are you suggesting that you are a Seer, Potter? You cannot possibly be! Not only are the vast majority of them frauds, you've never shown a smidgeon of the sheer power or talent that a true Seer would be required to possess!"

"Just because you only see me in Potions!" Harry shot back defensively. "I'm good at Defense! Best in my year, in fact! But you don't bother to note that, do you?"

"I note what I see, Potter. And what I see is an arrogant child who has blown up a few too many cauldrons in my classroom –"

"I'm not –"

"Stop," Dumbledore interrupted, not loudly at all. It had the desired affect nonetheless, as both Snape and Harry recognized the power behind that softly spoken word. He looked between the two younger wizards, studying each in turn. And Harry could tell that he wasn't the only one being made uncomfortable by the scrutiny. Snape was beginning to flush, though so slightly Harry wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for it.

"Both of you will listen to me, and listen well," Dumbledore continued in the same low, power-filled voice. Harry felt that after hearing him speak in that simultaneously caring and dangerous tone, he wouldn't have been able to interrupt if he'd tried.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, eyes focused solely on him, ignoring Snape, "your history with Professor Snape has not been one filled with affection or understanding, to say the least." Dumbledore's eyes began to blaze, and Harry leaned as far back into his chair as he could manage. "However, while you are under Professor Snape's authority, you will speak to him with respect, whether you feel it or not. And while you do, please remember that he has taken on the challenging responsibility of seeing to your welfare this summer. He did, in fact, risk his own life earlier this summer in the pursuit of seeing to your safety. That, if nothing else, should command your respect, if not your trust."

Harry lowered his head. What Dumbledore said was true. Snape _had_ saved his life…on more than one occasion, in fact. It didn't make the man any easier to deal with, but...it did make Harry feel properly ashamed hearing Dumbledore put it all out on the table like that.

"And Severus," Dumbledore turned to Snape then, satisfied that he'd gotten his message across to Harry, "You were wrong about Harry's home life. You, yourself, have admitted as much to me. Might it not be possible that there is yet more about Harry that you may have been mistaken in believing? Think about it. And whether or not you do, in fact, discover Harry to be the decent human being I know him to be, consider acting the part of responsible adult."

Snape didn't look at all close to an apology, but he certainly looked as if he knew not to provoke the headmaster by arguing. "Certainly, headmaster," he murmured, visibly pulling his familiar inscrutable mask over his features.

Dumbledore's furious gaze swept over the younger wizards once more before softening. "The both of you have such potential, you know. If you could only put aside your differences, you would learn so much from each other."

Neither Harry nor Snape made any comment in response, but then, they didn't need to. Dumbledore sighed. "One can only try." His fury left as quickly as it had come, though he was not quite finished with speaking his mind. "Promise me at least that you will not inflict too much harm on each other before I arrive next. If not for the people that you care about, at least for the value you both have to the war effort?"

Harry almost felt like saying, _if he will, I will_, but…that seemed a little childish under the circumstances, not to mention after the firm scolding he'd just been handed. So instead, he issued a mumbled and contrite, "yes, sir."

"Severus?" Dumbledore prodded.

"I will if he will," Snape responded with a smirk.

"Severus," Dumbledore scolded. And Harry felt strangely torn between anger and…laughter, of all things.

"Of course, Albus," Snape drawled reassuringly. "I fully intend to ensure that Mr. Potter arrives at Hogwarts unscathed for the upcoming school year."

"Thank you, gentlemen."

"Um, Professor?" Harry ventured hesitantly before Dumbledore could veer them into another direction of conversation.

"Yes, Harry?"

"So…um, back to…what…what about my dreams? Do _you_ think I'm a…Seer?" He had a hard time forming the word, his own experience with Seers being limited to Trelawney's strange mix of phony death predictions and two true visions.

Dumbledore drew a hand across his forehead to rub his temple, then proceeded slowly. "There are a great many fraudulent Seers in this world, Harry. There are only a small number of wizards or witches who can genuinely claim to see the future. Throughout my long life, I have only met a small handful, myself." He paused, deep in thought.

Harry shifted in his seat, impatient to hear more.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but fidget under his gaze. "Of the Seers I have been so fortunate to meet, and of the others I have heard tell or read accounts, I have never heard of a Seer experiencing visions quite such as yours."

Harry felt his heart sink in disappointment. It wasn't that he wanted Dumbledore to say he was a Seer. He just wanted to know what was going on.

"You claim to have met a version of yourself," Dumbledore continued, "and this version of yourself claimed to be a _part _of yourself?"

Harry nodded, remembering more. "He said he was the part of me that I'd only see in dreams, 'cause when I'm awake, I'm too distracted. He said he was the part of me who could see the future…"

"And did he comment that you may become aware of him during your waking hours at any point in time?"

"Um…" Harry tried to remember if Other Harry had said anything like that… "Um, yeah." It was amazing, now that he remembered the bit about the prophecy, how much was rushing back to him. It was like…maybe a part of himself has been holding the memories for him, so he'd be able to recall them. "He said that some day I'd be fully aware, but not yet. He said I wasn't ready, because I'm…not all the way grown up yet." Harry couldn't bring himself to call himself a child, like his dream version had done. Six was a child, _not_ sixteen.

Dumbledore didn't say anything for a few moments, his eyes alight with understanding.

Harry didn't dare break the silence, but Snape didn't have any such reservations. He impatiently gestured for the headmaster to continue. "You know something. Suspense is not desired, nor appreciated, Albus."

Dumbledore leaned forward, seeking out Harry's eyes until Harry felt he was so held captive that he could not look away. And then Dumbledore explained, "My personal experience with Seers is not vast, as I have just explained to you, Harry. But I should also note that I have never personally encountered an underage witch or wizard with the gift. There are always exceptions to the rule, of course, but from my humble observations, it seems that most Seers have come by their abilities whilst in their majority. Those who have acquired the gift young have usually done so under extraordinary circumstances...and after manifesting astonishing capabilities in other areas."

"But…there are…exceptions…" Harry managed, through his bated breath.

"There are nearly always exceptions to commonly held rules, Harry. It is what keeps us on our toes. Of course," Dumbledore continued, his eyes betraying a hint of excitement, "we cannot know precisely the nature of these dreams with so little to go on. However, if they do at some point prove you to be a Seer, I could venture a guess at why you have experienced them in such a way."

Harry endured another moment of infuriating silence before asking impatiently, "_Well_? What's the reason, then?"

"He is a child, still…" Snape spoke without waiting for the headmaster, working it out on his own. "If he does truly possess a smidgeon of the talent, he is perhaps not ready for the gift to truly manifest itself."

Harry managed to bite his tongue against denying the 'child' comment, and Dumbledore nodded before continuing himself, "You see, Harry, Seers are thought to possess an Inner Eye from birth. That Inner Eye is said to lay dormant until the witch or wizard is emotionally and magically mature enough for it to fully manifest itself into their consciousness. Needless to say, it is also theorized that there are many would-be Seers out there who never have and never will reach the point of development necessary in order to discover or to be fully aware of their gifts."

"Oh. That's, um…really confusing. Even if it sort of makes sense…" Harry didn't really care if _he_ was even making sense right then. He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Um, so…you _do_ think I'm a Seer, then? That my, erm…_Inner Eye_…is…manifesting itself?"

"Hardly," Snape again broke in. "This is not the way in which an 'Inner Eye' manifests itself, Potter. What the headmaster is getting at is the possibility that your Inner Eye has discovered a need for you to come to a realization of your abilities far beyond the time when you will be fully prepared to deal with them. It is, in fact," he added smugly, "potentially telling you that you are _not_ yet mature or powerful enough to handle this power."

"Then why show itself to me at all? Why the theatrics?"

"Perhaps it has seen something too important to ignore," came Dumbledore's simple answer. "Perhaps in light of the importance of sharing its message with you, that inner part of yourself has found a way to guide you through it."

Harry could barely process it all. "So my…that part of me…is trying to make it easy on me? Show me what to do with these visions? Because it doesn't think I can handle them on my own?"

"That is my supposition, yes."

"Oh. I, uh…I…have to think about all that, I guess," Harry offered. And "I…have a headache," was all the more he could manage as he sunk into his chair. From the smirk he saw cross Snape's face before it was properly erased, Harry just _knew_ the professor had been about to make some snarky comment about how taxing it was for Harry's miniscule brain to think so much in one day. But he hadn't said it…no doubt due to not wanting another tongue lashing from the headmaster.

"I am leaving you with quite a bit to think about, I believe," Dumbledore said slowly, "but then, you have given me quite a bit to think about as well. An amazing turn of events, this. Truly amazing…"

"Um, yeah…but, professor?" Harry's head really did hurt from this never ending talk of Occlumency and dreams and Seers and such, but that didn't matter in light of something he really, really wanted to know. "Um…what about the prophecy? You said…you said it was real?"

Dumbledore sighed, but his eyes didn't meet Harry's; they searched out Snape's instead. "I don't suppose there is any point in belaboring under the pretense that this prophecy will go unheard…not now that two more wizards are aware of its existence." He pulled his eyes away from Snape and rose, gliding thoughtfully over to the fireplace. He grasped a handful of floo powder before turning round to address his Potions professor, "Severus, I must fetch something from my office. Might I ask you to answer any further questions for Harry until I return?"

"Certainly, headmaster," came Snape's soft response, then Dumbledore left the drawing room in a whirl of green floo powder and a shouted location of the headmaster's office, Hogwarts.

Silence descended upon the room, and when neither wizard made a move to break the silence, Harry finally figured that Snape didn't intend to acknowledge his presence at all. It was strange actually, Harry reflected, how he wasn't even angry about it this time. He couldn't really seem to hate the professor right then – not with his usual malice, anyway. And it wasn't because things had really changed between the two of them… It was just…Harry had so much else to think about, that hatred didn't stand out at the forefront of his mind in terms of importance.

Left with only his headache and an ever-lingering curiosity, he swept a cursory glance over his professor before clearing his throat to carefully question, "So, all that talk about Inner Eyes and Seers and my dreams…do _you_ think that's what it is, Professor Snape?"

Snape didn't answer right away, and from the glimmer in his eyes when he heard the question directed at himself, Harry figured he was surprised that he'd been consulted. Well, Harry reflected, he was surprised at himself, too. But…even if he wasn't sure why, he wanted to know what Snape thought of the whole thing.

But maybe it was Snape's surprise that caused him to answer so candidly. Or maybe it was the practice he'd had in answering Harry's questions during their Q&A sessions, as Harry had taken to thinking of them. Whatever the reason, he responded without malice, even though his words could have suggested otherwise, "I do not…disagree with the headmaster, Mr. Potter, though I personally have never seen evidence that you have the aptitude for one of the most intricate of abilities to master. However," he added, looking Harry directly in the eye, "I do believe that these visions cannot go unmonitored. Until we have more evidence in hand, there remains a distinct possibility that the Dark Lord is, in fact, behind them."

Harry nodded, almost sighing in relief at the forthright answer. And though he was becoming more and more certain that these dreams weren't anything to do with Voldemort, he was learning little by little that it never hurt to be careful.

Yes, he decided. He'd be careful. He wanted to believe in these dreams, but "I'll be careful," he promised aloud. "I'll be careful what I believe, and I'll report any more dreams as soon as I have them."

"Immediately," Snape added authoritatively.

"Um, yeah…" Harry thought for a minute, really not wanting to ask this question, but seeing the necessity for it. "Er…about that. Erm…not that I'm planning on having more visions or dreams, but…if I do, and seeing as Professor Dumbledore made me promise tell you about it…day or night… Um, see…well, I don't even exactly know where your room is, Professor."

Snape crossed his arms, and as the beginnings of a sneer showed on the professor's face, Harry figured he must have overstepped some invisible boundary. Snape had been pretty calm…_almost_ nice, even, in helping Harry figure out his visions…but apparently disclosing the location of his private sleeping area was too much to ask.

"If you should have need of me during the night," Snape sneered slightly, obviously wanting to shower Harry with insults, but refraining due to the headmaster's warnings, "You have only to call for your dear, devoted house-elf to summon me."

"Oh. Right." Harry managed not to flush. He supposed he should have thought of that.

He was saved from further conversational efforts by the sound of Dumbledore returning. The headmaster stepped out in a small cloud of swirling floo powder and soot, familiar Pensieve in hand. Harry watched with rising anticipation as the headmaster carefully set the Pensieve on the table between them, then rose to his full height.

"Severus," Dumbledore addressed the professor softly, "I would like to speak with Harry alone for a few moments, if you don't mind."

Snape nodded, immediately rising to his feet. He didn't look put out at the dismissal; he looked, in fact, as though he had been expecting it. Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder what was going through the Potions master's mind as he calmly exited the room, closing the door behind him. All Harry knew was that if _he_ had been as much as told that he couldn't hear the latest mysterious secret Dumledore had been keeping, he wouldn't have taken it quite so calmly as Snape just had.

But then, working so closely with Dumbledore, Snape was probably used to knowing and accepting that secrets were being kept from him.

Dumbledore remained standing as he surveyed Harry, and after a moment, he spoke softly, as if he were relaying a child's bedtime tale and not the seriousness associated with wars and prophecies. "I have explained to you the prophecy I heard before your birth. And I thank you for relaying to me the prophecy you yourself heard from Professor Trelawney's own lips during your third year at Hogwarts. While I always knew that I would someday be pressed upon to explain that first prophecy to you, I need to make something absolutely clear between us, Harry…" He waited for Harry's nod before continuing. "If I, and not you, had heard Professor Trelawney's prediction during your third year, I would not have shared it with you."

Harry furrowed his brow, half put out and half in general confusion. What did this have to do with another prophecy?

"I tell you, this, Harry," continued the headmaster, "not to offend you or to dampen your spirits. I tell you this so that you may understand the important distinctions that must be made when deciding when, how, and with whom, to share information of this nature."

"Er…I don't really understand what you're getting at, headmaster," Harry confessed.

"I shared with you the first prophecy," Dumbledore explained patiently, "because it was about you. You had a right to know, and _I_ knew, even when you were quite young and even when I did not want to, that someday I would relay its contents to you. The contents of the prophecy which you overheard, however, did _not_ concern you. Knowing that Voldemort's servant would rejoin him and assist him in his rise would have been more a matter for the Order, not for a thirteen-year old boy…particularly as you had no way of knowing for certain to which servant the prophecy referred. Do you understand?"

"This is your way of explaining why you never told me about this other prophecy," Harry answered, growing impatient at all of the introductory talking. "Other Harry already told me that – he said you didn't tell me about the prophecy because it wasn't about me; it was about somebody else."

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, a sadness entering his eyes. "However…I must admit that I have not relayed the contents of this prophecy to even the individual about whom it concerns."

"Oh." Harry didn't comment on that, but instead asked, "Was this prophecy made by Professor Trelawney, too?" At Dumbledore's nod, he probed further, "And it was made to you, then?"

"No. No, this was relayed to Professor McGonagall shortly after events were starting to settle back to normal after the first war. She was caught quite unawares, I do believe," Dumbledore elaborated, a slight twinkle entering his eyes despite their lingering sadness. "Although I do believe she has held rather firmly to the belief that Divination is not the most exacting of arts, despite her rather close experience with the relating of prophecy."

"Professor McGonagall..." The image of the straight laced professor being confronted with a prophecy-spouting Trelawney _was_ almost funny, come to think of it. "So she told you, then."

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation. "She came to me at once with the prophecy, which I saw through use of a Pensieve. Now, granted, this prophecy, as with the one in your third year, could not compare with the thrill of triumph I experienced upon hearing the very first prophecy. The knowledge that one would soon be born with the ability to vanquish Lord Voldemort once and for all…well, nothing could quite compete with hearing tell of that firsthand, now could it?"

"Erm…I suppose not..." Harry answered out of politeness more than anything else.

"I…well, perhaps we should view the prophecy before I explain further to you…?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, more than ready to finally have his curiosity satiated.

Dumbledore drew out the silvery strand of memory from his head as Harry had seen him do before, and no sooner had Harry time to process that he was about to view the long-awaited second prophecy, than the ghost-like figure of Sibyll Trelawney drifted to hover half out of the Pensieve. As Harry listened, the figure spoke in the familiar harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard before:

"THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN…HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN BOUND BY TWO MASTERS…AND THE SERVANT WILL CHOOSE ONE MASTER OVER THE OTHER…AND ENEMY WILL BECOME ALLY AND ALLY WILL BECOME ENEMY…FOR THE SERVANT'S ROLE IN THE WAR IS GREAT…HE WILL GUIDE THE VICTOR AND DECIEVE THE VANQUISHED…THE DARK LORD'S SERVANT WILL BE BOUND BY TWO MASTERS…"

And as Harry watched, the figure swirled within the mist of memory before falling back to vanish into the still Pensieve.

Neither wizard spoke for a moment, as Harry tried to make sense of it.

Dumbledore finally broke the silence, speaking in soft, hushed tones, "You can imagine Professor McGonagall's shock and my own sorrow at hearing in plain language that Lord Voldemort had not gone forever, but would, in fact, return to resume his war of terror. I had suspected as much, of course, but even I had not truly shaken off the hope that those suspicions would be eventually proven untrue."

He paused a moment, perhaps to allow Harry to speak, but he resumed his speech when Harry made no move to interrupt. "I believe the prophecy to be speaking of Severus Snape, as you may have guessed. The prophecy alludes to a servant of the Dark Lord whom was bound by two masters during the first war. Severus, to my rather comprehensive knowledge, is the only Death Eater to legitimately and also, at the end, to simultaneously have worked for the causes of both sides of light and dark during the duration of the first war."

"What…what about Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked through his suddenly dry throat.

Dumbledore conjured a glass of water, levitating it to Harry, before responding, "Pettigrew was not working for the side of the light, despite our misunderstanding of his alliances. He, in fact, had no 'master,' as it were, other than Lord Voldemort himself. He was not _bound_ to two masters…not in the way which Severus chose to bind himself to both Lord Voldemort and to me." Dumbledore stopped to take a sip from his own glass.

"Is…is that why you trust Professor Snape so much? Because you heard that prophecy say that he would…'guide the victor'?"

Dumbledore looked reluctant to veer the conversation into that direction, but after a short pause, he relented. "That is part of it, yes. But understand, Harry. I only heard the prophecy after I had already heard his story and believed him."

"So what was so convincing about his story, then?" Harry persisted.

"The content of that conversation always has and always will be a matter between Professor Snape and myself, Harry. I will ask you not to question me further in that regard." Dumbledore's tone was rebuking, and Harry knew better than to probe further.

"Yes, sir. I understand." Harry thought for a moment. "But besides that. How do you really know which side he's chosen? The prophecy didn't say. Even if he _is_ on our side now, he could still decide to switch, couldn't he?"

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "As I have said before, Harry, I believe that Professor Snape is on the right side of the war. But even if he weren't, ask yourself – in light of the prophecy, is not the wisest course of action to draw him in rather than forcing him to the other side? I am not sure if you noticed the finality of the prophecy, Harry, but while the one regarding you does not state who is to win this war, the second one very firmly states that the side which Professor Snape chooses _will _have the victory."

Dumbledore allowed Harry to absorb that for a moment, then continued in soft tones. "I did not want to discuss this with you, Harry, I admit freely. I did not want to burden you, especially as I know where you believe Professor Snape's loyalties lie.

"I had hoped that somehow the both of you would come to resolve your differences on your own. I believed the prophecy meant that he would be able to guide you – you, the 'victor' referred to in the prophecy – and that he would be the key to unlocking your power to defeat Voldemort – the 'vanquished.' I wanted it to be true to such a degree that I forced you both to work together last year instead of letting you come to an understanding on your own. My interference made matters worse, I am afraid." Dumbledore's eyes filled with regret, and he looked very old to Harry.

Harry didn't know what to say. There was too much to think about. His brain was full, and his head had started to hurt from trying to sort it all out at once. He wasn't even sure whether he wanted to be angry at yet more secrets kept from him by the headmaster. Even if it was mostly about somebody else…

"Sir," he began tentatively. He had started speaking but wasn't really sure what he wanted to say. "Will… Um, you haven't told Professor Snape about this prophecy."

It wasn't a question, but if it had been, Dumbledore's defeated face would have been answer enough.

"Are you going to tell him, sir?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and brought his hands to his head, massaging his temples. He then stood and began pacing the room. "I've thought about it. Many times, in fact. Don't think I don't know how I may be judged for this someday, Harry. Too many secrets are a horrible part of war, but they are a vital part as well.

"When I first heard this prophecy, I didn't even consider sharing it with Severus." Dumbledore was still pacing, not looking anywhere in particular. Harry wondered if he remembered who he was talking to. "He was young, just out of a tormenting service to a dark master. He needed to be free, not to have the burden of deciding the fate of another war on his shoulders for years to come. But most of all, I wanted his decisions to be his own, not reactions to prophecy.

"It was the only way." Dumbledore turned his gaze on Harry, his eyes asking for understanding. And Harry knew, looking into those sorrowful eyes, that the older wizard had done many questionable things in pursuit of what he considered a greater good. Things he never expected to be forgiven for. But he had done them nonetheless, because the decisions had to be made, and he was the one to make them.

Harry felt a sudden overwhelming relief that he didn't have that responsibility on his own shoulders. He was expected by many to destroy Voldemort, a great feat, yes, but he was responsible for just that part of the war. Dumbledore felt responsible for all. And he would likely be resented or hated by many of those he had tried to protect.

Like Harry.

He had heard enough for one night. He couldn't think, and he couldn't stop thinking, all at the same time. He nodded in acknowledgement of Dumbledore's explanation and stood up from his chair.

"I'd like to turn in now, Headmaster…Is that alright?" Harry questioned. Both were exhausted, and Dumbledore looked the smallest bit relieved, though at the reprieve from more talking or the fact that he hadn't had to deal with another tantrum, Harry wasn't sure.

"Yes, of course, Harry. I will keep Professor Snape informed as to when you may expect the official commencement of our Occlumency lessons."

Harry turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Harry half-turned back to the headmaster.

"Just one more thing, Harry… I…feel it my own responsibility to decide when to inform Professor Snape. I – "

Harry cut him off. "I won't say anything to him, sir. You have my word."

Dumbledore's lips curved upward in a grateful smile, though his eyes were still sad. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry started to turn back toward the door, but Dumbledore's hand still rested on his shoulder and held him in place. Harry turned a questioning face to the other wizard.

"Harry…whatever the secrets or problems or enmity we have known in the war, you must let me say something…"

Harry nodded, curious.

Dumbledore looked intently at him, seemingly trying to will Harry to not just hear his words, but truly consider them. "Severus knows more about the way Lord Voldemort thinks than anyone else in the Order, Harry, including myself. More, perhaps, than even his other Death Eaters. If anyone is ideal in helping you to learn how to defeat him, it is Severus. I would think that even if I had never heard the prophecy."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Harry simply nodded once more, not in agreement, but in acknowledgement. He would contemplate that later, after he'd had a chance to soak everything else in.

"Alright, sir. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Harry."

This time when he turned to leave, Dumbledore let go. The headmaster was standing in the same place, unmoving, as Harry closed the door behind him.

Harry hardly noticed the empty hallway or the faint light from underneath the closed kitchen door as he made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. If he'd been less overwhelmed by this, the longest of days, he might have even thought to use his Wall Watcher to see what more Dumbledore and Snape would discuss about his dreams now that he was gone. Or he might have thought to request a visit from his friends to get some of the more puzzling pieces of information off his chest.

But he didn't think of any of that as he reached his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed. He hardly thought anything at all as he almost immediately drifted off to sleep.

In fact, before the darkness of sleep claimed him, his last lingering thought was that any more _thinking_ could most definitely wait until tomorrow.

…

_A/N:_

_Have we seen the last of Harry's dreams?_

_Are Snape's loyalties truly decided?_

_Will Snape continue to resist in helping Harry to learn Occlumency?_

_Will Voldemort succeed in his plans to capture Harry?_

_And finally…will Snape and Harry EVER learn to just get along?_

…_Stay tuned! All of these questions and more will be answered before Harry starts his next school year on the Hogwarts Express!_

_(This is also where I thank you for the BEAUTIFUL reviews I have received and humbly ask for more.) :) :)_


	18. A Lesson in Being Slytherin

_A/N: I have been asked if Snape's background in this story is the same as in the books. My answer is that everything is canon through Book Five. Really, don't assume either way about anything revealed in Books Six or Seven – some of those things are true of this Snape, and some things aren't. I'll tell you in the story what you need to know. I've also planned a few things about his past that are absolutely not in any of the books._

_And now…on to the story!_

…..

**Chapter Eighteen – A Lesson in Being Slytherin**

After having relayed in nearly excruciating detail every important dream Harry had had since the beginning of summer, he counted himself lucky to not have a single dream the entire night following that conversation – not even an ordinary nightmare.

Of course, that could have been attributed to the fact that he was unable to sleep for more than an hour or so at a stretch. Seriously, if waking up in the middle of the night nearly nose to nose with Dobby the house-elf minutes before he disapparated hadn't given Harry a heart attack, the swift popping of house-elf apparition every subsequent time he opened his eyes was nearly enough to send him into a state of paranoia.

"Dobby!" Harry called out the fourth time such an incident happened, and sure enough, the wide-eyed house-elf appeared with an immediate pop. Harry turned on a light near his bed in the mostly-dark room.

"Harry Potter called for Dobby, sir?" Dobby gave a little hop to show his willingness to be of service, and Harry almost caught himself reaching forward to stop his tower of hats from falling to the ground. Amazingly though, every last hat landed perfectly in place on top of the little house-elf's head.

Harry sat all the way up on his bed, annoyance chasing away any amusement he may have felt at the balancing act. "Dobby, what in Merlin's name have you been doing popping in and out of my room all night?"

Dobby had been eagerly bouncing on the heels of his feet, but at Harry's exasperated tone, he promptly stopped, eyes opening wide. "Is…is Harry Potter angry with Dobby, sir?"

Harry was tempted to say yes, and he very well might have in his current state of sleepy grumpiness, if it hadn't been for Dobby's huge earnest eyes staring up at him. Harry sighed at the thought of the house-elf doing something drastic in self-punishment. He'd probably throw himself out the window or give himself a concussion on the bedpost if Harry wasn't careful.

"No, Dobby, I'm not angry. I just want to know what's going on. Did you need me for something? You could have just woken me, you know."

Dobby stared at him in dismay. "Dobby is not to wake Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is to check on Harry Potter every night, sir, but he is being ordered not to wake you!"

"Check on me?" Harry wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean, 'check on me'?"

"Professor Snape is ordering Dobby to tell him immediately if Harry Potter is having bad dreams!"

"Professor Snape?" Oh. The visions. Snape probably wanted to make certain Harry was telling him whenever he had one. Well, that figured. Snape didn't trust Harry, so of course he'd send in a spy. Now Harry was _really_ annoyed. "Well, um…he can't have meant standing constant vigil, can he, Dobby?"

"Dobby did not ask, sir! Dobby will ask him right now!"

"No!" Harry held out his hand to stop the house-elf from leaving. "No, Dobby, don't. I'm, um…sure he must still be sleeping." And Harry didn't want to have anything to do with Snape losing sleep.

"Professor Snape is not sleeping, sir. He woke several minutes ago. Dobby knows; Dobby made Professor Snape breakfast, Harry Potter, sir."

"Oh." Come to think of it, breakfast sounded good… But wait. Looking out his window, he could see that it was still dark. Remembering Snape's rule about wandering the house at night, he wondered if he was even allowed. And he wasn't willing to chance a turn at cleaning leeches to find out.

Hmm…he took in Dobby's helpful appearance appraisingly. Only one way to find out…

"Dobby, if I ask you to relay a message to Professor Snape, do you think you can remember it? Word for word?"

Dobby puffed out his little chest, eager to prove himself to his hero. "Dobby can remember hundreds of words if they be for Harry Potter, sir!"

"Okay, I need you to tell Professor Snape that, out of respect for his authority and the rules he has set for me this summer, I've sent you to ask him if I can leave my room before sunrise. Oh, and tell him I sounded really respectful when I asked."

Dobby looked slightly confused when he popped out to deliver the message, but pop out he did.

Harry only had to wait a few minutes for Dobby to return, but he wasted no time in changing clothes and freshening up a bit. He hadn't eaten much of the food Dumbledore had laid out last night for him, and he was absolutely starving now. Images of eggs and bacon and toast and muffins and every other breakfast food imaginable were floating through his head, and by the time Dobby reappeared, he figured he could have eaten an entire table full of food.

"Well?" Harry asked the house-elf eagerly.

Dobby squinted his too-large eyes in an attempt to not mix anything up. "Professor Snape is sending Dobby to 'inform Mr. Potter that his respect will come in handy when Professor Snape tells him to read ten chapters in his Occulmenancy book as soon as he is finished eating.'"

Harry stared, dread and annoyance fighting for equal consideration within him. That book again? That big, fat, boring book was all he had to look forward to for the rest of holiday?

He licked his lips, fighting off his hunger. "Tell…er, tell the professor that I've decided to stay in my room for a bit longer, to…er, work on those Occlumency techniques from chapter five."

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed as he quickly disappeared to relay his newest message.

Dobby was gone little more than a minute this time. When he reappeared, his face was hidden behind a book nearly half his own size. His muffled voice drifted to Harry, "Dobby is bringing your book, Harry Potter, sir. Professor Snape is saying that Harry Potter will need it, as 'chapter five is not nudged in between chapters one and two.' And Professor Snape is telling Dobby to tell Harry Potter that he will be quizzed on his efforts over breakfast, sir."

"Great," Harry muttered, wishing he'd never started this whole thing. And thinking of a few choice words he'd really like to have Dobby relay for him…only, he'd never say those particular words to Dobby.

"Thanks, Dobby," he muttered and lifted the book out of the hands of the grateful, tired house-elf. "Tell Professor Snape I can't wait."

"Yes, Harry Potter!" Dobby called tiredly before popping out to relay the message. Snape apparently deemed that last message not worth responding to, as Dobby didn't return.

Harry lay on his bed, turning the pages in the book straight to chapter five without so much as peering at chapter four. If he was to be quizzed that very morning, he wasn't about to waste his time on the boring, useless stuff before he got to what he _really_ needed to know.

_Chapter Five: Non-Magical Techniques for Clearing One's Mind_

_Strengthening one's mind through practical exercises in mental discipline is essential when one considers developing a proficiency in one of the mental arts. The first step in acquiring a disciplined mind is to perfect the skill of clearing one's mind from outside influences. While the way in which this may be achieved is not universal for each witch or wizard, the following exercises…_

By the time Harry finished the introductory page and read through the first three exercises, he was starting to feel a bit better about this whole Occlumency thing. The book was still fairly annoying, but the exercises it mentioned didn't sound so bad. In fact, they were downright simple.

Exercise One recommended laying on one's back, breathing in and out, counting to 100 with each breath. It would force him to focus his mind on one thing, the book said, pushing everything else out of his mind. Well, he shrugged. Why not?

So he lay back, nestling comfortably onto his unmade bed.

In…one.

Out…two.

In...three. This wasn't so hard!

Out…four. Simple, in fact. Why hadn't he just tried this earlier?

In…five.

Out…six. His leg felt itchy.

In…seven. Was he allowed to scratch it or did he have to keep going?

Out…eight.

In…nine. How long did he have to do this?

Out…wait. Was this nine or ten?

In…he'd lost count. How was he supposed to clear his mind if he lost count? Harry opened his eyes. Somehow he didn't think this was what mental discipline was supposed to feel like.

After trying it once again with similar results, he promptly gave up. It was a stupid exercise, he decided.

Exercise Two said to focus on a pleasant thought or memory, then to make his surroundings as close to that thought as he could. For instance, if he thought of a moonlit night, turn off all lights save one high in the room. Then he was supposed to close his eyes and imagine everything about that place – sights, sounds, smells – and imagine himself so deeply in that thought or memory that he forgot all thought of the here and now.

Sounded pretty weird, Harry thought, but he figured he had better try. So he thought…and thought. It was pretty pleasant to be on a broom, he knew, but how would he set up his room so that he felt like he was flying? He couldn't very well bring up a muggle fan to blow in his face, could he? He discarded several more thoughts before he settled on the memory of his cupboard. It shouldn't be pleasant, he reflected, and he had been locked in against his will so many times that it really wasn't, but…sometimes it was also his safe place, a place where he could hide away from the Dursleys.

And it _was_ pleasant, in a way, Harry reflected, because it was the only place in the whole of his childhood that he could claim as his own.

So he threw all but one sheet and a pillow away from him and lay on his side, curling his knees up to his chest like he'd done so many times in his cupboard. He reached over to turn off the bedside light, and there was just enough light in the room that Harry knew the sun was about to start its ascent in the sky. Thankfully, it was still almost completely dark, though still not as dark as the cupboard could get sometimes.

He closed his eyes, imagining the musty smell of the small room under the stairs. He imagined the spiders and the old sheets and his broken, second-hand toys. And he reveled in the memory that even if they were all second-hand, they were his. _His_ broken toys, _his_ hole-filled sheets, and _his_ tiny, musty cupboard. He felt the small glow inside that he had felt when he was only five years old, laying his inner claim on the things that Dudley didn't want anymore…but at the same time being careful not to show his pleasure at the ratty old things, for fear that Dudley might see his happiness and decide he wanted the things back...

Dudley, the spoiled son of the people who should have loved Harry, too…

Why couldn't they have shown Harry love? Or even just treated him better than a mangy stray they'd been forced to keep around? It wasn't that they weren't capable of love; they were certainly capable of loving Dudley. Wasn't Harry worthy of their love, then?

Yes. Yes, he was worthy of love. His parents had loved him. And Sirius had loved him.

But did they count? They were all dead. Would they still have loved him if they'd stuck around to see him grow up? Nobody else did. No adult, that is. Well, maybe the Weasleys…but not as much as their own kids. Mrs. Weasley might deny that, but Harry knew they had enough to be going on about with their own family to be filling in for Harry's missing parents.

Wait, what was Harry thinking? He wasn't a five-year old in a musty old cupboard, craving parental love. He was older now; he knew better. And even if he hadn't known better, he didn't need it anymore…not like he did back then.

Harry opened his eyes, deciding that he didn't want to be in his cupboard any longer.

A glance at Exercise Three in his book didn't excite him nearly as much now that he'd tried the first two and failed, so he committed the exercise to memory and busied himself with throwing the discarded sheets back onto his bed.

Light was beginning to seep in through his window now. It was still too dark to be considering leaving his room, but it was enough to remind Harry of his annoyance at Snape for seeming to always outsmart him. And it was enough to remind his growling stomach of the food awaiting him at breakfast.

Food. That reminded him…ugh. Well, no time like the present to toss out that old container of Mrs. Weasley's dessert from his trunk. He just hoped he hadn't left anything else in there that might start to grow something.

But as he opened his trunk, he figured if there was anything else in there, it would take quite a while to find it. His trunk was a mess of old and new school supplies, clothes, and miscellaneous wizarding gadgets he'd accumulated from birthday gifts and treks to Hogsmeade. At least it wasn't as messy as it could have been – half of his trunk's earlier contents were by now strewn across his Grimmauld Place room.

Surprisingly, it only took a moment for him to locate the container of uneaten pudding, which was thankfully still sealed, and toss it. It was on top of the Advanced Defense Techniques book that Hermione had given him for his birthday. On a whim, he pulled out the book and placed it on his bedside table to flip through later. After that horrible book Snape and Dumbledore were making him read, he could use something a bit more interesting to read when he had time.

He moved to close the lid to his trunk, when the rising light through his window caused something in the bottom of his trunk to glitter out at him. Curiosity won out as he reached his hand in to grab hold of whatever it was, but he immediately cried out as he felt his hand slice against something ragged and sharp. He yanked back, cutting his hand still further on the ragged edge, and balled it into a fist. He blinked back tears of pain from his eyes. Ouch, it hurt!

He stood for another moment before cautiously reaching his other hand to discover what had cut him…and he pulled out a large, broken shard of glass. It was a piece of the mirror he'd thrown in the bottom of his school trunk at the end of last year, after Sirius had died.

He threw it back into his trunk and shut the lid, not really caring about the possibility of it cutting him again. He couldn't throw it out.

His hand hurt. It was bleeding, he saw as he tried to uncurl his fist. But he curled it again. Moving his fist hurt worse than clenching it. That much blood was normal, wasn't it…?

Forcing himself finally to uncurl his fist a small bit, he quickly wrapped an old thin shirt of Dudley's around it. The bleeding would stop soon enough; it always did when he hurt himself at the Dursleys. No Madam Pomfrey there, and he'd always been fine.

So he settled back on his bed in wait for the sun to completely rise, not planning for his eyes to slowly droop…or for them to close altogether, drawing him back into a peaceful sleep.

…..

He woke from his unplanned nap to a pop, a squeak, and another pop. Dobby was the only explanation, he knew from the entire past night of pops in and out. But looking around, he could see that the house-elf was nowhere in his room.

That was odd, he mused tiredly as he rolled over, pulling a blanket over him as he did. He hadn't woken up in time for Dobby to be leaving on account of being caught.

But before he could dwell on that thought for very long, his bedroom door swung open with such force that it slammed against the wall behind it, startling Harry to nearly falling off his bed. He caught himself from falling just in time to sit up in his mess of sheets and watch Professor Snape storm into the room, a wailing Dobby close on his heels.

Snape stopped just inside the room at Harry's wide-eyed stare, and Harry was sure in that moment that he detected a bit of panic in the professor's face, which quickly turned to relief, followed swiftly by a more familiar look: that of burgeoning rage.

Harry pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Pray tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape began without further ado, his eyebrows lowering so that his eyes were mere slits, "why, after your show of begging to be awake before the crack of dawn, you decided to have a lie in rather than performing a task so grueling as studying to preserve your own dubious sanity? And when you are through with that explanation, perhaps you will then enlighten me as to why, moments ago, I was hailed by a panicked house-elf lamenting your sudden and untimely demise?"

"D-demise?" Harry questioned, bemused. "I'm not dead."

"So I unfortunately see," Snape responded none too pleasantly. "Get out of bed this instant, Potter. You have wasted enough of the day with your irresponsible behavior."

Harry was too confused still to argue; he threw off his blanket and swung his feet around to the side of the bed; but before he could land them on the floor, he was halted by a sharp intake of breath. A look confirmed that it was Snape. The man had gone paler than usual, and he was staring at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked self-consciously, even as with one downward glance, he answered his own question. His hand. The blood from his cut hand had soaked through the threadbare shirt he had wrapped around it, and the shirt he was wearing was likewise streaked with blood. Soaked, in a few spots.

It looked worse than it felt, although now that Harry thought about it, his hand was throbbing pretty badly.

Overcoming his shock, Snape was upon him in an instant, ordering Dobby to his quarters to retrieve potions for pain and blood-replenishing.

"What did you do, Potter?" Snape pulled Harry's hand from against his stomach, where he had been holding it, and unwrapped Harry's makeshift bandage with angry, jerky movements. "What mischief could you possibly have gotten into in your own bloody bedroom?"

Harry winced, pulled his hand from his professor's grasp.

"Give it here, Potter!" Snape ordered.

"No!" Harry inched back on his bed until he was square against the headboard. He clutched his now un-bandaged fist to his chest, defiance in his voice. "Why should I give you my hand when you're only aiming to make it worse? In case you hadn't noticed, it hurts enough without you yanking at it!"

Snape sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, and Harry was amazed that the man actually seemed to be trying to calm himself. Since when did he bother to calm himself in Harry's presence rather than just acting on his worst impulses?

"Give me your hand, Potter," Snape repeated, only slightly calmer, holding out his own hand to Harry. "You are in need of medical attention, and I, unfortunately for us both, am the only one able to give it to you at the moment."

Snape held out his hand for another long moment, until Harry was satisfied that he wasn't planning on pouncing on Harry to force him into submission. Throbbing hand finally getting the best of him, Harry cautiously inched forward, pausing another moment before begrudgingly holding out his clenched fist for Snape's ministrations.

He let out a pained hiss as Snape pried his fingers open, though at least the professor did so gently this time. Harry looked along with Snape at his bloody hand and the cut that extended all the way from the underside of his middle finger to the contour of his hand, and down to the outside of his wrist. Harry almost forgot the pain for a moment, so surprised was he that he had cut his hand so far from one shard of broken mirror. No wonder there was so much blood.

"How did you do this?" Snape asked as he pulled out his wand to spell away enough blood so that he could properly assess the wound. The professor seemed less urgent, at least, now that he could see that this was no life threatening injury.

"Um, broken mirror. In my trunk. Cut myself," Harry answered disjointedly through the pain of Snape's gentle prodding. And this being so close to Snape was weird. Strangely, it was bringing back the memories from when he'd woken up to Snape holding him after his nightmare at the Dursleys. And between the pain in his hand and Harry's torn emotions from the total comfort he'd felt moments before he'd woken that time and the utter humiliation he'd felt in the moment after…well, it was all making him feel rather jumbled up.

He leaned away from his hand, eager to get away from being in quite so close proximity to the Potions master.

Dobby reappeared, then, with potions in hand, and Snape immediately sent him back for more supplies.

"Drink this," Snape ordered as he held out a potion. At Harry's questioning glance, he explained, "Blood-Replenishing Potion. Drink this one also for the pain."

Harry did so quickly, not wanting to taste either potion.

Dobby reappeared with a small case, which Snape accepted before dismissing the house-elf. Dobby gave Harry one last wide-eyed, worry-filled gaze before disappearing.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" Snape asked calmly, sorting through a collection of small vials and jars.

"No."

Snape removed a small jar from the case and unscrewed the lid before scooping up a moderate amount of some sort of paste with two of his fingers. Replacing the lid on the jar, he reached again for Harry's hand, spreading the paste over his long cut.

Harry hissed, though it was starting not to hurt so much, probably due to the potion he had been given for pain. But it still hurt when Snape pushed directly on the wound. It was all Harry could do not to pull his hand away again. At least the professor was spreading the paste over the cut gently, without his earlier angry movements.

"What reason did the sorting hat give for its desire to place you into Slytherin, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked coolly as he finished spreading the paste over Harry's hand and reached for a roll of bandages.

Harry was so baffled by the unexpected question that he took a moment to register it. "Wha…Is – is this your question, Professor? The one I still owe you?"

"No," Snape answered simply as he picked up his wand. With a flick of his wrist, bandages from the case started to wind themselves around Harry's hand and wrist. "This is an ordinary, run of the mill, I-ask-you-and-you-answer-me question."

"Oh. Um…" Harry ran over the list of attributes the sorting hat had told him he possessed, sifting through them for anything embarrassing or incriminating. He still remembered that pretty well, even if it had been nearly five years ago. It had meant the world to him to have been accepted by the sorting hat after being so worried that he'd been sent to Hogwarts by mistake, so yes, of course he remembered what the sorting hat had said to him.

The bandage on his hand was completely in place, now, and Snape merely sat on the edge of Harry's bed, watching him and waiting for his response.

"It, um…said I could be great, and that Slytherin would help me on my way to greatness."

"And did you not want to be great?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You distinctly told me that you chose not to be in Slytherin. Why ever not, if the sorting hat told you that being Slytherin would help you to become great?"

"Um…well, it wasn't the only house I fit, you know. It said I had courage and a good mind, and talent, too. And a thirst to prove myself."

"If you truly had a thirst to prove yourself, you would have chosen Slytherin," Snape stated unequivocally.

"But I didn't want to prove myself in that way," Harry argued. "I didn't want to go bad, and it just sounded like all the bad wizards came from Slytherin. And I didn't want to be a bully, either. I had enough of being on the other end of things with Dudley and his gang."

"Slytherin does not equal 'bully,' Potter."

"Well, it did in my 11-year old mind, okay?" Harry shot back, defensive. "And it's not so far from the truth, now I'm older and still see Slytherin students and _professors_ alike bullying anybody younger or weaker."

"I am prepared to ask my due question," Snape announced, abruptly changing the topic and effectively ending Harry's tirade.

"Oh…okay." Better to just get this over with – Snape looked too serious, and not at all mocking, which was actually kind of worrisome. Harry braced himself for the question.

"You are an abused child, Mr. Potter."

"Erm…" Harry _really _didn't like where this could be going, but he felt powerless to stop it.

"You have been demeaned, starved, beaten –"

"They never really _beat_ me –"

Snape continued, ignoring him, "_Beaten_, imprisoned, deprived, and lied to about yourself and about your parents on a consistent basis."

Harry's face was growing hotter by the second.

"What I want to know, however, pertains to our typical school-year exchanges." Snape paused. "Taking advantage of any and all opportunities to see you writhe is admittedly one of my favorite Hogwarts-related activities."

"No kidding," Harry managed to mutter through his rising trepidation.

"Why, in five years of comments and jeers at your spoiled, pampered existence, did you never once correct me?"

Harry gaped. That had not been the question he'd been expecting. "You…you _are_ kidding this time, right?"

"I do not 'kid.'" Snape actually looked affronted.

"Well, for one, you never would have believed me! And don't bother denying it – you didn't even believe me after you saw my room. It took Uncle Vernon –" Harry stopped, not really wanting to go there. "And anyway, I hardly wanted my crummy childhood to be Slytherin common room gossip." Harry could actually feel his face whiten then, as his mind latched onto that thought. "Um…is it?"

"Is what?"

"As soon as school starts, is everything you learned about me going to become Slytherin common room gossip?" Harry hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn't help it. He'd never even told his closest friends the whole truth – the idea of the whole school knowing…well, darn right he was feeling kind of vulnerable. The feeling only worsened when Snape didn't answer right away. Oh, no…he _was_ going to spread it around school – Harry just knew it. Vulnerability be hanged; Harry felt downright nauseous. "I'll deny it, you know! Not even my Gryffindor friends know about it – well, not about the worst bits, anyway. As soon as they know it was you who started the rumor, no one will believe it. They all know how much you hate me – they'll just figure you're doing it out of spite!"

"What do you think it means to be a 'Slytherin,' Potter?"

"Wha– huh?" Harry was starting to feel dizzy from all the conversational trails Snape was leading him down.

"Surely you have some preconceived notions of the basic characteristics one must possess in order to be sorted into the most infamous of houses."

"Um…well, everyone knows there wasn't a witch or wizard went bad wasn't in –"

"Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor. Try again."

"Um…the sorting hat said cunning, right? And…it did say I had a thirst to prove myself…"

"Correct. Slytherins are sorted as such because they have cunning and ambition. Just as Gryffindors are hailed for courage, Ravenclaws for intelligence, and Hufflepuffs for loyalty, Slytherins are sorted for their _positive_ attributes, not because their 11-year old minds have hatched evil, diabolical plans to take over the world as the next generation of Dark Lords."

"Erm…okay…"

"Due to their personal ambitions and capabilities for cunning, Slytherins by default do tend more in general toward the self-serving attitudes you seem only too eager to see at the expense of other observations."

"Er…sir? No offense and all…I mean, this is interesting…but what does this have to do with whether you're going to tell –"

"You claim to have been almost sorted into Slytherin, Potter. As unlikely as I have always thought the idea, the sorting hat does not lie. Farfetched or no, it appears that you may, after all, possess some modicum of cunning in that thick head of yours. It is time you learned how to use it."

"What, and you've decided you're going to help me?" Harry didn't know whether to scowl or to laugh at the idea.

Snape merely inclined his head. "Your first exercise is to dissect the motivations I may have in revealing your history of familial neglect to your schoolmates."

Harry gaped. "You're actually using my horrible childhood as an exercise in being Slytherin?"

"Precisely. Now, go on."

"Erm…" Harry couldn't believe he was actually about to play along with this. "Alright, well, you hate me."

"That is an emotion, not a motivation. You will limit your exercise in cunning to what spreading rumors about your abusive childhood would gain me."

"You like to see me squirm, you love to see me angry, embarrassed, or humiliated, and you probably reach a state of euphoria at the prospect of seeing me cry."

Snape, of course, didn't deny any of that. "Now, Potter. Consider the circumstances. Knowing, as I now do, that I am in possession of more information about your home life than the whole of Gryffindor Tower, would I, in fact, gain all that you have listed by sharing that information?"

Harry didn't want to answer. What if Shape was just scoping out to make sure he would, in fact, be inflicting the most amount of damage? But he answered anyway, maybe because this conversation was just so strange. "Yes. Of course it would."

"Perhaps. At first, yes. However, I would speculate that once your throes of angst were at an end, quite the opposite would occur. As you stated, those with no reason to value my Death Eater word higher than the noble savior of the wizarding world would never truly believe it. Those with reason to see the truth – those closest to you, no doubt, along with certain members of the Hogwarts staff – would more likely gravitate to either pity or coddling.

"Given that presupposition, and your statement of my motivations, would I truly choose to subject myself to witnessing a litany of coddling professors, hero-worshipping prats, and reporters with nothing better to do with their time than to hail the great Harry Potter, over-comer of yet more adversity?"

It took Harry a moment to even be able to say, "Wow. Um, wow…you put all that thought into every petty thing you do? No wonder you always manage to make my blood boil. I'm, um…I'm actually tempted to be impressed, if you weren't always thinking against me."

Snape crossed his arms, apparently waiting for Harry to say something of actual substance.

"Um…okay, so…you're _not_ going to tell?"

Snape stood abruptly, throwing his hands in the air. "Bloody Gryffindor! Did you hear a word of what I just said, Potter?"

"Yeah, of course I did!" Harry defended automatically. "But you know, if you really want to put so much thought into figuring out how to destroy my life, you're forgetting something about me. I hate that stuff, all that attention – probably more than you hate to see me getting it. So it would be a torture for me more than it would for you! You'd have won, anyway. So your little 'exercise in cunning,' it's not even based on who I really am! It's based on who you _think_ I am, which just means your sneakiness could use some more work!"

"Perhaps," Snape answered maddeningly, watching Harry shrewdly.

"Perhaps? What does that mean? I didn't want a lesson in Slytherin-speak, professor! I just want to know if you're going to tell."

Snape snorted. "Fine thing, Potter, for it would take more than this one lesson for you to comprehend the fine art of cunning. One of which is to not hand your enemies weapons. Weaknesses are weapons, Potter, and you just gave me one more of yours."

"No, I didn't," Harry countered fiercely. "You only think I did because you've been assuming things about me for the past five years! If you paid any real attention to me or talked to anyone who even kind of knows me, you'd already know that I hate all that horrible attention! I didn't hand you a weapon – your own assumptions just prevented you from figuring it out before!"

"Damn you, Potter!" Snape yelled suddenly, his eyes flashing in anger. "You were supposed to be arrogant!"

Harry blinked at the strange outburst. "What?"

"You were supposed to be a spoiled, arrogant, dim-witted, attention-seeking brat! You were supposed to make it effortless for me to hate you! Five years, Potter! Five years! I've never had any trouble seeing your father in you! Why choose now to destroy my comfortable illusions?" Snape was seething, his fists clenched at his sides, and Harry was so taken aback that he couldn't form words. Was Snape saying he'd been wrong about Harry? The words kind of sounded like it, but the pure, absolutely angry way they were said sure didn't.

After a moment, he decided that maybe he shouldn't say anything. The whole situation seemed a little precarious.

Snape still seethed, shooting daggers at Harry, until he finally spun on his heel toward the door. He turned back around almost immediately with a muttered curse, and to Harry's confusion, stalked over to Harry's school trunk and lifted the lid. He carefully drew out the long shard of mirror glass from on top of Harry's belongings, then resumed his stalking toward the door.

Harry couldn't keep his silence, then. "Wait! What are you doing with that?"

Snape didn't turn around, nor did he stop. "Disposing of it! At least there is some sense still left in this world, Potter, as you foolishly did not stop to think about the expedience of such an action right away."

Harry ran to catch up with Snape, following close on his heels as the man reached the stairs and descended them at a rapid pace. "It's mine! And I don't want to throw it out. Give it back!"

"So that you may puncture a vital organ next time? I think not."

"But it's mine!" Harry repeated again, starting to feel a bit panicky. Snape couldn't throw it away – he just couldn't!

Snape didn't stop until they had reached the kitchen, and Harry was downright terrified that he'd never see the shard again. Not stopping to think of the folly of it, as soon as Snape stopped, Harry rushed at him, grabbing for the shard. He'd caught Snape off guard, he could tell, the professor's surprise apparent on his face. But Snape immediately lifted the piece of glass above Harry's reach and shoved him away with one firm, surprisingly strong arm.

Harry struggled against the arm, desperate to claim the item that was being held so far beyond his grasp.

"Potter! What in Merlin's– Get a hold of yourself, boy!" And when that didn't work, "POTTER, STOP THIS INSTANT!"

"Don't throw it away! It's mine!" was all Harry could manage as made one final effort to jump for it.

"Why I should not toss a broken, hazardous piece of worthless junk, I have no idea!" Snape continued to hold him at bay, shoving him toward the kitchen table, irritation in every syllable. "Stop attempting to cut your other hand on it, however, and I will desist in disposing of it until after you have explained yourself!"

At that promise, Harry warily backed away from Snape, eyes trained on the arm holding his largest piece of Sirius' mirror. His body was tight, ready to pounce again at the slightest indication that Snape was lying about not tossing it right away.

"Sit," Snape commanded, tone brooking no argument.

Harry sat at the nearest end of the table, eyes still focused on the mirror shard as he watched Snape's hand lay it down on the other end of the table, beyond Harry's reach.

Snape sat stiffly next to Harry. "Explain yourself," he commanded.

"It's mine," Harry repeated simply, eyes still on the item on the far end of the table. "It's mine, and you've no right to destroy it without asking me."

"I have every right, Potter, as the professor who nearly had a heart attack this morning when Dobby the house-elf came to me with a story of your dead body laying in a bloody heap on your own bed. What would possess you to want to keep a dangerous, broken –"

"Sirius gave it to me," Harry rushed to say, not bothering to evade the issue any longer. It was what it was, right? Either Snape would let him have it back, or he wouldn't. It may as well be based on the truth.

Harry didn't bother to look at Snape, but the man didn't respond, so he continued, "Sirius gave me a mirror to communicate with him. He kept the other one, and I was supposed to call him with it if I ever needed him. I forgot about it, see? I forgot about it before the Department of Mysteries, and after he…after the veil, I broke it – the mirror, I mean. I know…I know you hated him, too, but it's one of the only things I have that he – that Sirius ever gave me, and…you can't throw it out. You can't…" He finished on a whisper, fighting back a humiliating rush of indefinable emotions. He swallowed, hard, and hoped that Snape would answer soon, because he wasn't so sure that he would be able to speak for a few minutes – at least, not without even more embarrassing memories between himself and his Potions professor.

Snape didn't speak either, and the emotionally charged silence was nearly enough to make Harry run for the door…with a brief stop to grab for Sirius' mirror, of course.

Instead of breaking the silence, Snape finally rose from his seat to walk over to the sharp, jagged piece of broken mirror. He stood there for a moment, and Harry finally tore his eyes away from the object to see what Snape had decided to do.

Snape was staring at him, something indefinable in his eyes, and he reached for his wand, slowly bring it around to point at the mirror. Harry watched with rising dread. Snape was going to destroy it. He was going to destroy it, and Harry would never again see the precious gift that Sirius had given him.

"Please," Harry managed to whisper. "Don't…"

But as Harry watched, Snape tore his eyes away from him and pointed his wand at the piece of mirror, speaking an incantation so quietly that Harry almost mistook it for the silent spells at which Snape seemed to be so gifted. An orange smoke lifted from the table, and Harry lowered his head.

All that humiliation in front of Snape, and for nothing. Now he'd lost both the mirror and his pride. In a moment, he'd be angry. Right now, he had to get a hold of himself. He wouldn't let himself break down after all he'd already done and said.

But before he could think beyond that, he felt Snape's presence standing near his chair and saw the man's hand set the familiar shard of mirror on the table in front of him.

Harry reached out a hand, hardly daring to believe that Snape hadn't destroyed it…and that he was actually giving it back. He carefully ran one finger down the edge of the mirror, where it had formerly been sharp and cutting. Snape's spell had smoothed the broken edges without destroying its shape.

Harry felt closer to tears than he had when he'd thought it destroyed. He swallowed against the childish urge to cry, instead grasping the mirror with his good hand and bringing it close to hug against his chest.

He heard Snape move toward the door, and he thought for a moment before he allowed himself to do something he'd sworn only days before that he would never do.

"Thank you," he whispered, head still bowed. He heard Snape's movements pause. "For this, and…for, um, for letting me come with you. From the Dursleys. Thank you for not leaving me there."

He didn't hear movements for a long moment, but he didn't bother to look up to check if Snape was still there or to see how he had taken his thanks.

After a moment, Snape's movements resumed, opening the kitchen door in his retreat. But before the door swung closed to leave Harry alone with his precious mirror, he heard, in the voice of his most hated Hogwarts professor, one sentence he'd thought he'd be more unlikely to hear than his own expressing his thanks:

"You are welcome, Mr. Potter."

….

_A/N: Don't for one second dare think that these two are best buds, now! :) But, well…they've taken a step in the right direction, at least, don't you think?_


	19. Squinting at Snape

**Chapter Nineteen – Squinting at Snape**

Harry squinted his eyes.

Hmm…no difference.

Maybe if he turned his head to the side, just so?

Nope, still no difference.

Snape was still Snape.

The man had been baffling Harry all day, ever since his unexpected outburst about hating Harry…or was it about _not _hating him? Harry really wasn't sure what that had all been about.

He might have been able to forget about it if it hadn't been followed by Snape passing up on the perfect opportunity to injure Harry. Since when did the man turn into someone who not only gave him back a sentimental possession, but also actually smoothed out the edges to make it safe for him? It was a small thing, certainly, but nonetheless something Harry never would have thought Snape capable of doing.

And _then_, most shocking of all, had been when he actually accepted Harry's thanks! Without mocking jeers or thunderous rage, even.

Harry shook his head. And squinted only one eye at Snape, this time.

It made the man sitting across from him at the kitchen table look a little blurry, but other than that…he still looked like Snape.

"May I assist you with something, Mr. Potter?" came a familiar voice from a familiar body, and in a familiar impatient tone, too. Yep, definitely still Snape.

Harry looked back down at his dinner plate, poking his fork into a bit of steamed carrot. "Er…no, sir. I'm good."

Snape turned back to his own plate of food, spooning the last bit into his mouth before pushing the plate aside. It immediately disappeared from the table.

Harry couldn't help notice that his professor even chewed methodically. It was like everything about this man was systematically meticulous – his potions, his classroom, even his eating habits. Not that his outburst earlier had been methodical, or his action with the mirror predictable…

And then there was the prophecy. Harry had been thinking about that a lot all day, too. Could it really mean what Dumbledore thought it meant? Was Snape really destined to have so large a role in the war as to decide its outcome? Was it really possible that he might be the key to helping Harry figure out how to defeat Voldemort? Or…was it possible that Harry or Dumbledore would be the deceived of the prophecy and Voldemort the victor?

"If you have something to say, Potter, swallow your food and say it!" Snape didn't really look angry, but his sneer spoke volumes of his irritation at Harry's staring.

Harry looked down again. "Nothing to say, sir; I'm good."

"Do not toy with me. You obviously have something on your mind, and I am not in a mood to mollycoddle it out of you. Have your say, then kindly desist in scrutinizing me."

Harry chewed the last bit of the food in his mouth, thinking quickly. He couldn't tell Snape what he had really been thinking. He grasped quickly for something to say.

"Unusual creatures," he settled, then rushed to explain, "I was wondering why we never saw any in that forest."

"Pardon?" Snape knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "What gibberish are you going on about?"

"In the forest with Remus and Moody, right after we left the Dursleys," Harry explained. "Dumbledore had sent you that wand, and the portkey, and a note. And the note said to watch out for unusual creatures. I didn't ask before, but I really wondered…what creatures exactly was he talking about? And why didn't we see any?"

Harry swore then that Snape actually twitched his lips in amusement before responding, "We did not see any unusual creatures, Potter, because there were no creatures to see. It was a code. As is the case with all Order messages, the headmaster could not guarantee that the message which he sent me would not be intercepted. He could not simply spell out the password to the portkey. If he had, and if it was, in fact, seized by the wrong party, Lupin and Moody would be dead by now."

"Oh." That made sense. It was pretty neat, actually, to think of codes and rendezvous and such. Still…how did he get a portkey password out of such a cryptic message?

As if reading his mind, Snape summoned a quill and a piece of parchment from the other side of the room and scribbled something before passing it to Harry.

_Every uNusual crEature deeMed riskY_, it read.

"'Enemy' was the password. First letter of the first word, second letter of the second word, and so on," Snape clarified.

Harry's eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh. That's pretty cool. Do you always use this code when passing messages? Or do you have different codes for different things? Or something else? Or some way to –"

Snape held up his hand. "One question at a time will suffice." But his eyes weren't narrowed, and his mouth wasn't set in a straight thin line. Harry was starting to think that maybe Snape didn't really hate answering these types of questions, even if they were from Harry. "We do, in fact, have various codes for various uses. The headmaster also uses certain devices to communicate with certain people, thereby ensuring that not one single person knows every one of those methods. Taking into account the Dark Lord's effective means of gaining information, to entrust even the most trustworthy of Order members with every last piece of information would be foolhardy."

"So what are some of the other codes, then?" Harry asked eagerly, pushing away his mostly finished plate of food. Finally something more interesting to learn than how to count to 100 with his eyes closed!

"I could not tell you that, even if I were so inclined," came Snape's short answer.

Harry slouched back into his chair. Well. _That_ didn't last long. "You don't even have some measly, harmless code or password you can tell me? It's not like I'm going to go around telling You Know Who about it or anything," he pointed out.

"Mr. Potter," Snape began in his lecturing professor voice, which basically guaranteed Harry wouldn't like what he said, "the Order does not devise methods of communication purely for your amusement. If the need arises, you will be provided with a thrilling code of your own, no doubt involving numerous nonsensical phrases concerning unusual creatures. Until then, you will desist with questioning me regarding matters which are none of your business. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. He still thought he ought to have a secret code or password or something. If nothing else, it would lend a little bit of fun to his otherwise tedious summer.

After a day of mostly silence between the two of them, however, Snape was now apparently inclined to discuss a few other things – things not quite so interesting to Harry as secret codes. "I informed you this morning that I would test you on your Occlumency efforts over breakfast. As certain…distractions prevented it, we shall do so now."

"Occlumency. Oh, joy," griped Harry, but he sat up straight at Snape's warning look.

"Did you practice the three exercises the headmaster assigned to you?"

"Yes," Harry answered without meeting his eyes.

"The truth," Snape snapped.

"Okay, fine. I tried the first two and totally failed. But I read about the third!"

"Explain your attempt at the first exercise," Snape ordered.

"Um…The book said to breathe in and out, counting as I did. I…um, tried, I really did. A couple of times, even. But I just kept thinking about other things. I don't get it – how in the world can somebody just shut off their mind to everything around them? It's impossible!"

"It is not impossible; it is necessary," Snape responded simply. "And the second exercise?"

"I, um…tried to imagine myself somewhere else. But then I just kept thinking about other things again. It was other things about that place, though, not about the here and now."

"What place did you use as your anchor for the exercise?"

"Just…a place," Harry answered feebly. How did Snape always know exactly the wrong questions to ask?

"I cannot determine the reason for your lack of progress without understanding how you are failing to clear your mind, Potter. You will be frank with me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. But, um…I thought you weren't teaching me Occlumency. The headmaster is supposed to be doing that this time."

"As I explained yesterday, while you apparently were not listening to me, the headmaster and I have reached an understanding. He is overseeing your practical lessons, yes, but I will still be ensuring that you stay on task in completing your reading and homework exercises. Now answer the question."

Harry was starting to think that coming up with ways to avoid answering Snape's questions were pretty pointless. The determined man always managed to come back around to getting what he wanted to know. And Harry was out of distractions involving "unusual creatures." So he sighed and resigned himself to…well, he didn't know to what, exactly. He would usually predict ridicule, but Snape was acting rather oddly today, what with all his shifting back and forth between civility and snappishness.

And now he wondered if the reason for Snape's unpredictable behavior today was maybe that Snape himself was undecided as to how to act. He _had_ been rather upset earlier about Harry proving to be different than Snape had expected…or wanted…him to be.

"Answer the question, Potter! I do not have all day!"

Case in point.

Harry braced himself for the rest of the conversation. "I imagined I was in my cupboard," he admitted so quietly that anyone with less sharp hearing than Snape's would have had to strain to hear.

Snape definitely hadn't expected that answer from Harry, if his furrowed brow and lack of a quick response were any indication. He cleared his throat. "Potter…I do believe the book said to focus on a _pleasant_ thought or memory, did it not?"

"Erm…yeah, it did…"

"And did you _enjoy_ being locked and starved in said cupboard?"

"Of course not!" Harry answered indignantly.

"Then I fail to see why you chose that…prison, of all places, as a memory with which to focus on clearing your mind." Snape was giving him a look which clearly said what he thought of Harry's level of sanity.

"It wasn't – I mean, I didn't –" Harry stopped, took a deep breath, then started again, "It was a horrible place, yes, when I was being punished. But it wasn't always bad. It was my room, you know? Sometimes it was the only place I could go to get away from them. And cramped and dark as it was, it was _mine_."

"It was yours," repeated Snape, still looking at him like he'd gone nutters. "You place so much stock in possessions, then, Potter? Rather materialistic, don't you think?"

Harry stared, then felt anger rising within him. "Materialistic? That's the best you've got now you can't claim 'arrogant' anymore? Let me tell you something, _professor_! It's not materialistic to want a place to get away from people who don't want you around! Maybe you could try to imagine just once in your life what that must have been like!"

To Harry's surprise, Snape's expression dropped its traces of mocking. But then, it dropped all trace of anything else too, as the man visibly closed off any and all emotion from showing on his face and answered through his teeth, "I'll do my best to imagine the scenario, Potter. Continue with your explanations."

Weirdly, Harry felt…disappointed. He was angry. He wanted to fight. While he'd never thought of his usual exchanges with Snape as a way to vent his frustrations, he was kind of hoping to use it that way now. So he gave the usually snarky man another shot to rise to the occasion. "What? No comebacks? No added insults? Just 'I'll do my best to imagine the scenario, Potter'?"

"Precisely. Elaborate on your second exercise," Snape responded evenly, refusing to take the bait.

"Well, tell me then," Harry snapped, not ready to give up that easily, "just how do you plan to 'imagine the scenario,' huh? Sit in a cupboard for a while? Cause that's –"

"Quite enough!" Snape finished the sentence for him, simmering anger in his eyes. Harry refused to back away from the frightening sight. It was what he had been asking for after all, wasn't it? A fight. And Snape sure seemed ready now…although there was still something in his eyes – something that seemed to be keeping him from pulling his usual unrestrained assault on Harry. "Allow me to assure you, boy, that yours is not the only life to have been damaged by the cruelty of abuse. Compared to some children in this world, you have, in fact, led a wholly pampered existence. Now. You claim to have been unsuccessful in your attempts to use the cupboard within your exercise. _Continue._"

Harry didn't, not right away. He just stared at the professor. Since when…? Never mind. He'd been starting a lot of questions today with those two words. He shook his head slightly to clear it of questions and reluctantly felt himself losing his steam. Snape obviously wasn't going to cooperate in fighting with Harry like he usually did, which left Harry, confused or no, with only one option: getting back on track.

"Okay…yeah, it didn't really work so well."

"Explain."

Harry gave him a blank stare. "Explain what? It didn't work, that's all. I got distracted, just like with the counting."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest in obvious exasperation. "Getting the information I actually need from you is like trying to obtain venom from a live Acromantula, Potter – nigh unto impossible!"

Harry crossed his own arms. "Well, if you'd stop trying to pry into my personal life –"

"This is not personal, Potter; this is war. Even if it did not benefit you immeasurably to retain control over your own mind, it most certainly benefits our fight against the Dark Lord. Besides, what do you think that you can possibly have to hide? I have already discovered more useless information about your 'personal life' than I have ever desired to know. Detailing your thoughts within the no doubt minuscule timeframe you actually dedicated to the exercise cannot possibly be more damaging to your pride than not improving upon your Occlumency would be to your life."

Harry absorbed Snape's speech without interruption, eyes trained on the table in front of him. Snape was right, in a way. He _did_ already know most everything Harry had never wanted him to know. And fighting Voldemort…that was more important than Harry's stupid pride any day of the week, wasn't it? But still…thinking about it, it suddenly occurred to him something that was holding him back.

"You don't know how I _feel_ about it," Harry murmured to the tabletop.

"Come again?"

"So…you know stuff, okay?" Harry managed to raise his eyes to the dark material covering Snape's folded arms. "You know about lots of stuff neither one of us wanted out in the open. But…when it's all said and done, it's okay. More okay than I thought it would be, anyway. Because…I'll live; I'll get over it." He paused, taking a deep breath for what he was about to say. "I'll get over it because…you still don't know the important stuff. What I think of it all, how I feel about it, how it's made me brave about some stuff and afraid of other stuff. I…can't let you know that. Even if it _will_ benefit the war, I…I just can't…"

The silence in the room was so thick after his admission that he almost wished he could grasp for the words and take them all back. But…he guessed he had said what needed to be said. Even if Snape did decide to hold him in complete contempt for it.

"Occlumency," Snape broke the silence guardedly, as if he couldn't believe he was about to be forthright with Harry in return, "is a complex and delicate study. It requires a certain level of trust between teacher and student, a level of trust which I insisted to the headmaster innumerable times last year that you and I do not possess. _Could_ never possess, as a matter of fact."

Harry almost nodded his agreement, but he thought that might not be the appropriate response. So he remained still and listened, eyes focused on Snape's arms as they unfolded to rest on the table.

"I do not care to trust you, Potter. And do not fool yourself into thinking that I care one bit whether or not you trust me. However," Snape paused, "it appears that the headmaster's assertion that a semblance of trust is not necessary in order to follow up on mere homework assignments was inaccurate."

When Snape didn't speak for a full minute, Harry figured he'd said all he wanted to say. "So…we're, um –"

"At an impasse, Potter. The correct phrase in this situation is, 'I believe we are at an impasse.'"

"Oh. Right. That's a…good way of putting it." Harry couldn't think of a single other thing to say.

"Return to your studies," Snape ordered crisply before standing from the table.

Harry stood as well and hesitantly asked, "So…that's it, then? You're not overseeing my homework anymore?"

"I will ensure that you do not spend your holiday lazing about. If the headmaster wants you to be tested on the materials, he can very well do it himself," Snape sneered slightly as he shoved in his chair and walked toward the door.

"Oh," Harry responded dumbly as he followed Snape to the entryway but veered off to the drawing room as Snape continued to climb the stairs, presumably to work in his potions lab.

The books Hermione and Ron had brought him for the upcoming school year were strewn across the table and floor of the drawing room where he had spread them out that morning in his attempts to avoid all things Occlumency and Potions. Actually cracking his Hogwarts books had seemed like a decent way to avoid Snape until dinner and also to avoid a tongue lashing _at_ dinner.

Harry wasn't disappointed by any means by this latest development, he decided as he collapsed on the sofa. But he would have thought he'd be more elated at not having to discuss his exercises with Snape anymore.

Not that his mixed up feelings had anything to do with Snape specifically. They really would both be better off if they could avoid living on the same continent; they both knew that. Plus, as Snape had said…how could it even work if they didn't trust one another? That really made sense, actually. If Harry wasn't willing to share a part of his mind, then how could anybody help him figure out how to control it?

What _was_ really bothering him was, well…who knew when Dumbledore would have the time to come again? He seemed to have such a busy schedule. How was Harry going to learn Occlumency if he had no constant tutor? And as much as he'd been fighting it, the events of last year had at least taught him that whether he liked it or not, learning Occlumency wasn't _always_ a horrible idea.

Come to think of it, it really wasn't Occlumency itself that Harry disliked. It was the horrid methods of learning it that he hated. He really didn't know which was worse anymore: withstanding vicious attacks on his mind or being forced to read that boring old book.

If he could just figure it out and have the 'learning it' bit behind him, his life would be a whole lot easier.

Especially, as he was to reflect several hours later, not knowing how to properly clear his mind made slowly drifting into sleep on the drawing room couch much more risky an endeavor. And whether it was his mind not being clear which caused it to reach into Voldemort's mind once again, or whether it was a fluke brought on by the dark wizard's intensely joyous state, Harry did not know…

….

_His followers stood before him in a crowd of identical black hooded robes and masks, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in that symbolic uniformity, this glorious sight representing so much of his own vision. One day, the wizarding world – no, the world entirely – would be so wholly consistent, so unpolluted by the foul blood of the dissimilar, the weak…the Muggle._

_He nearly smiled, so soothing was the sight of his mask-clad followers to the purity of his ambitions._

_And then he did smile as the prisoner was led forward amidst the sea of dark robes and into his presence. The contrast of the crude Muggle clothing the figure wore with the surrounding Death Eater garbs accentuated the pollution she and her kind were responsible for condoning. _

_It was no matter, of course. The Squib would die today, though not before he garnered the information necessary to lead him one step closer to his prize…and therefore one step closer to the power he craved._

_No, not simply craved. It was the power he deserved._

"_Where is the boy?" he questioned, drawing his wand on the shaking woman. He reveled in knowing that it was he who caused her to shake in fear._

_She tightened her lips in a silent refusal to answer._

"_Crucio!" His smiled widened as the collapsed figure writhed in pain. He let up an instant later, unwilling to destroy this frail excuse for an offspring of wizards before his questions had been answered._

"_Where have they taken the boy?" he repeated smoothly. "Surely you know that Dumbledore cannot hide him from me forever. I will find him, with or without your help. Tell me what I need to know, and I may allow you to live."_

_The prisoner's violent shaking did not prevent a look of defiance from crossing her face. She opened her white, trembling lips to foolishly declare, "You will never win! Albus Dumbledore is –"_

"_Albus Dumbledore is a fool," he interrupted smoothly, smile erased from his face. The Squib was beginning to spoil his excellent mood. "I will ask once more: Tell me what you know of the location of Harry Potter. Refuse, and you will die this day a more torturous death than one ridiculous child is worth."_

_She tightened her lips into a thin line, eyes simultaneously shining her defiance and sheer terror at what she had chosen to be her fate._

"_So be it," he hissed, joy completely gone at the less than worthwhile find. The Death Eater who brought her to him had assured him that her resistance would be as frail as her aged, thin frame. The Death Eater would be punished._

"_Kill her," he ordered to his followers. "Slowly. If she remembers any information of value, stop immediately and bring her to me."_

_She would die. But now…now he must exercise the next step in his plan to locate the elusive and protected boy._

_He turned away, leaving his followers to carry out the fate of one Arabella Figg._

…..

Harry's eyes flew open, for one endless moment certain that he had been placed under the Cruciatus curse, his searing scar and pounding heart nearly too painful to endure.

But the moment ended even while the pain did not, and all the moments thereafter were too quick. Harry began to panic before he even rose to his feet. Every second he wasted was another second closer to Mrs. Figg's death! He ran faster than he remembered ever running before, through the door to the hallway and up the stairs until he reached the closed door to the potions laboratory. Not stopping to think of the distinct possibility that Snape would curse him into oblivion, he charged through the door without knocking.

Snape was in the corner, his back to the door, and he spun around with quickly drawn wand in hand upon the sudden disruption to his quiet. Seeing Harry, his face hardened, eyes flashing.

Before Snape could open his lips to rail at him for bursting in unannounced, Harry leaned his arms on the nearest table to catch his breath and gasped, "Mrs. Figg! He's got Mrs. Figg! They're torturing her, and she's going to die!" _Breathe. Look Snape in the eyes._ "They're killing her!"

The anger faded from Snape's face as quickly as it had come as he reached Harry's side and, grabbing him by both shoulders, shoved his shaking body into a nearby chair. The professor's entire frame was tensed with urgency as he searched Harry's eyes. "You had a vision from the Dark Lord?"

Harry could only nod, panic setting in further.

"_Arabella _Figg?" Snape asked quickly.

Harry nodded again, a quick jerky nod.

"Tell me what you saw. Exactly, beginning to end. Be quick, and be thorough."

Harry tried in vain to swallow a fresh burst of panic. "He – he was with his Death Eaters." Harry gasped for breath.

"Breathe, Potter. In. out."

He tried, but trying to talk was more important. "He was happy because he had a prisoner! He was happy," Harry gasped for air, "because he thought he could get her to tell where I was, but she wouldn't, or couldn't, either one, and he told them to kill her. Slowly, though; he said slowly…so she might still be alive!" He shoved against Snape's hands where they retained a tight grip on Harry's shoulders. "You have to tell the Order! She might still be alive! You have to go now and tell them to find her!"

Snape didn't move, despite Harry's struggles to push him away. "Where were they? Describe the surroundings – outdoors or inside? Forest, graveyard, shack, mansion? As many details as you can remember."

"Inside, I think. Um, some kind of huge room, maybe?"

"Was there anything in the room? _Anything at all_ that might identify it?"

"It was dark, I didn't see anything but the people! I told you everything. Please just tell the Order!" Harry couldn't keep the panic from taking over much longer.

Snape did not hesitate now; he swept out the door so quickly that if Harry had blinked, he'd have missed it. Snape gone along with his message, Harry brought his knees up to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth in an attempt to distract himself from his racing thoughts and his throbbing scar.

But he knew there would be no distraction for this.

He knew Mrs. Figg. Not well, really. But he still knew her. She had watched over him before he knew who she was. She had even testified for him at his hearing last summer.

And now…now she was going to be killed by Voldemort in his quest to locate Harry. She was going to die _because of Harry_.

Yet another death he was about to be responsible for.

He clambered off the chair to reach a wastebasket. He felt about to retch, but he didn't. So he sat there, on the floor near the wastebasket, just in case.

He couldn't cry, and he didn't know whether to feel guilty for not crying. Would Mrs. Figg hate him if she knew that he wasn't crying after seeing her being sent to her death? He brought up his knees again, but he didn't rock this time; the shaking of his body was all the movement he could handle.

Where was Snape? He had to have gotten in touch with the Order by now. Were they looking for her? Had he left to look with them?

The moments stretched by, and Harry didn't know if it had been mere minutes or long hours before Snape reentered the lab, his black shoes stopping directly in front of Harry. Harry couldn't look up; he was afraid of what news Snape had brought. His body shook violently.

After a moment, Snape knelt to just above Harry's eye level, and Harry didn't have any more excuses. He met the professor's eyes, terrified of what he might see.

"I contacted the Order," Snape began evenly. "They were aware of Arabella Figg's disappearance and had been searching for her. Until I made contact, they had no reason to believe that she had been taken prisoner by the Dark Lord. They have increased their efforts to find her. However," he paused before continuing cautiously, "their efforts will most likely be in vain if she has, indeed, been handed over to his followers. I expect she will be dead before the day is out, if she is not already."

Harry lowered his head to his knees at hearing it put so bluntly. Still, even through the turmoil he felt inside, he appreciated Snape's bluntness. Dealing with truth was hard enough without having to sift through a sugarcoated version of that truth.

He didn't lift his head when he heard Snape rise to his feet and walk to the other side of the laboratory. He heard shuffling and the sound of bottles clinking against each other, and then Snape's presence was back beside him.

"Drink this." The closeness of Snape's voice told Harry that he was kneeling again.

Harry raised his head a fraction to see a small bottle of potion being held out to him, and he took it and poured it into his mouth without question. This was probably the first time he'd ever taken a potion from Snape without suspiciously questioning him, he thought absently.

He leaned his head back, his shaking almost immediately lessening as he felt a calming feeling spread throughout his body. It didn't take away all of the panic or the pain of his scar, but it sure made it easier to breathe.

"Better?" Snape asked, though his clipped tone made the question sound clinical, rather than caring.

Harry nodded, unfocused eyes staring ahead of him. "He was looking for me."

Snape hesitated, then answered quietly, "I know."

Harry rolled his head to the side, taking in Snape's searching look, but he couldn't think what Snape might be searching for. "How…" Harry gulped, needing to ask this question, but not wanting to know the answer, "how many others has he killed, trying to find me?"

"Less than he would have were he not distracted by this latest plan."

Harry closed his eyes, knowing what that meant. Mrs. Figg wasn't the first one Voldemort had tortured and killed for information on Harry's whereabouts this summer. He licked his lips, then croaked, "Who else?"

"It is not necessary for you to know –"

"Who else?" he demanded, desperate eyes boring into Snape's. He didn't even care if Snape saw how close to tears he was. He just needed to know who else had been needlessly killed in the pursuit of keeping Harry safe.

"Two Muggles from your neighborhood, shortly after we left," Snape answered softly, giving in to Harry's plea. "The Dark Lord appears to have now abandoned that route, as nearly none of the residents of Privet Drive seem to know anything about you beyond your uncle's claims that you are a delinquent in attendance at a school for criminal boys."

"And the Dursleys?" Harry whispered, not sure why he cared, just that he didn't want them dead. Not dead because of him, anyway.

"We believe he has decided them of more use alive. Nonetheless, they are…under certain protections." Snape sneered at that, as though dubious about the wasting of wizarding protections on them. From Snape's odd behavior today, Harry couldn't help imagine it was because he had seen them being so horrible to Harry. But then he remembered the image of Uncle Vernon threatening Snape with a lawsuit and figured his professor wouldn't need to have Harry in the picture to not like the Dursleys. Still…even in the midst of this nightmare, it was somehow nice to know that even Snape couldn't stand Harry's horrible relatives.

Snape held out another bottle of potion in the silence, but as Harry reached for it, Snape held it back, just out of his grasp. At Harry's questioning look, he explained, "Dreamless sleep potion. Go to bed. Drink this just before you sleep."

Harry stared. "I can't go to bed! Mrs. Figg –"

"The Order is looking for her. You can do nothing from here to change her fate. Go to bed," he repeated, in a tone Harry nearly mistook for gentleness.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He was too tired this time to start to argue with someone just as…okay, _more_ stubborn than himself.

He rose to his feet, but he paused before accepting the potion that Snape continued to hold out to him.

"Um, sir?" he ventured before he could change his mind, though he carefully avoided the professor's eyes. He took Snape's silence as invitation to continue, "Um…I…I kind of think that maybe…an impasse isn't an option."

Snape still didn't answer, so Harry chanced a glance at him. Great. The unreadable expression was in place. Harry really hated that expression, even if he wished he could master it himself, sometimes.

"If I…take this potion tonight, what am I going to do tomorrow night? I, um…I don't want…" he swallowed, but he forced himself to go on, "I don't want to see my friends next time…"

Snape studied him for a moment before asking, "Are you prepared to trust me, Potter?"

Harry tried to nod, even if he knew it was a lie. But he couldn't. Even Snape would see it for the lie that it was. "Um…maybe you could just…tell me how you cleared your mind when you were learning?"

"I was three years old," Snape pointed out.

"Yeah. But couldn't you tell me? I mean…how did your mum start to teach you?"

Snape crossed his arms. "If you think that I am about to tuck you in –"

"No," Harry protested in a rush. _Definitely_ not. He crossed his arms too, only it wasn't defensive; his shaking was getting worse again. "If you could just tell me what she told you, maybe I'd have some chance of actually learning something."

"She sang to me," Snape answered, surprising Harry by both giving him an answer and not kicking him out of the lab.

"Oh." Yeah, definitely not going to ask Snape to do that. Just the thought would have been enough to cause Harry to shudder if he weren't already shaking.

"I was told to focus on her voice, and on the intervals of music. Then I was to focus on the words only, forgetting her voice or the melody. In this way, she taught me to focus my mind on one thing at a time, effectively blocking out extraneous details."

Harry nodded. It made sense, but he still couldn't figure out how to block out his own 'extraneous details.'

His frustration must have shown on his face, for Snape withdrew the bottle of dreamless sleep and set it on the counter to one side. "Prepare for bed, Potter. We will convene in your bedroom in fifteen minutes. And I will not," Snape repeated, lifting his chin, "be tucking you in, singing you to sleep, or otherwise acting in any way parental toward your wretched teenaged self."

"O-okay," was all Harry could manage before Snape steered him toward the door and out of the potions lab.

After a moment of staring at the closed laboratory door, he managed to calm his shaking long enough to make it to his room.

He tried not to think about Mrs. Figg's terrified face, but it kept resurfacing as if in front of his own eyes. All he could do was hope that Snape wasn't coming to his room to humiliate him or taunt him about his old, ragged Dudley hand-me-down nightclothes. He needed help to clear his mind from these and other images – to keep Voldemort away and, truth be told, to keep away the nightmares he knew he'd be having tonight. Nightmares filled with death and guilt.

He wasn't ready to trust Snape, but he was still the only one who could help him. And so…right about now, Harry was ready to accept what little bit of help Snape was ready to offer.

Fifteen minutes later, as Harry listened to the sound of approaching footsteps with a mixture of hope and trepidation, he could only manage two measly, understated thoughts:

This was going to be interesting…

And there had better not be any singing.

….

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Thank you for reviewing! Thanks to you wonderful souls who do both!_


	20. The Scent of Safety

**Chapter Twenty – The Scent of Safety**

Harry sat on his bed, then stood, then sat again, before Snape entered his room. One glance at the intimidating man in his doorway, however, and he stood again.

It was weird, this waiting for Snape to come to his room before going to sleep; it was too…parental, for lack of a better word. Harry felt downright awkward, with no clue how he was supposed to act. And, of course, the fact that his scar still hurt and he was still feeling shaky from his vision didn't help matters.

Thankfully, Snape didn't tarry by the door. He walked right in and gestured with the wave of an arm for Harry to climb into bed, which Harry did so quickly, pulling the covers completely up to his chin.

That done, Snape sat stiffly on the foot of the bed, perched as if ready to leave at any moment.

"Clearing the mind is not something one can simply teach," Snape began without preamble, gaze averted from Harry. "It must be consistently put into practice in order for your mind to develop any semblance of discipline. I will endeavor to aid you in the clearing of your mind. Do not mistake this for any concern on my part, Potter. I am agreeing to oversee your practice for tonight only, for the sole sake of the war effort." His chin rose slightly.

_Well, yeah_, Harry thought, making no reply. How many times did the man have to insist that he didn't care about Harry? That usually went without saying, and Harry found it odd that Snape had found it necessary to state it more than once today.

Snape continued at Harry's lack of response. "My observations this past week have led me to believe that your failure to clear your mind prior to sleep is not an isolated issue, and may, in fact, be part of a greater problem."

Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure whether to be offended or worried at his professor's words. "'Greater problem?' What do you mean? What _problem_?"

Snape crossed his arms, relaxing his frame a minute amount, probably due to approaching more familiar lecturing ground, but he still didn't look at Harry. "From the moment you and I arrived at this location, you have flitted from one activity to another, hardly able to focus on one single thing at a time."

"That's nutters!" Harry denied automatically, propping himself up onto his elbows. "I can focus on stuff!"

"Oh, really?" Snape did look at him then, eyebrows raised. "Your first several days were spent in teenaged boredom, as if concentrating on one activity were beyond your comprehension. You have always been easily distracted in Potions class, and that has not changed in your few assignments this summer. Also, allow me to point out your horrendous attempt to study the headmaster's assigned readings for more than one second at a time. You may examine the results of your failed Occlumency exercises for yourself."

Harry sat up completely, forgetting his attempts to shield himself with his blanket. "I _can_ focus!" he repeated, trying to find some flaw in Snape's list, but when he paused a little too long, he felt his face heat at Snape's smug look. "I can focus," he tried again. "I focused on all those Potions assignments you gave me this week! You can't blame me for being bored sometimes over all those hours you had me working – I finished, didn't I? Anyway, everything you listed…it's all boring stuff." Harry cringed as soon as he said that and it sounded like he was whining, so he tried a different tack. "I can focus on Quidditch! No matter how many hours I play that game, I never stop looking for the snitch, and I'm always able to avoid the bludgers. And maybe I don't do so well in Potions cause it's not my favorite subject, but I concentrate really well on Defense!"

"I see," Snape leaned back, arranging himself a bit more comfortably on the foot of Harry's bed.

"You see _what_?"

Snape pierced Harry with his know-it-all gaze, "I see a teenager who has never learned the fine art of applying himself to occupations which may not entirely engage him."

"I can –"

"I see," Snape continued as if Harry hadn't tried to interrupt him, "a boy who decides much too quickly that an activity is not worth his effort and therefore does not give it enough due attention to discover whether it perhaps may hold a single interesting or useful quality."

"But I –"

"So you can focus on activities which you genuinely enjoy. Who cannot? That is hardly an accomplishment." Snape leaned forward to get his point across to Harry. "You will never learn to clear your mind unless you learn to apply yourself utterly and completely to less than enjoyable undertakings."

Harry opened his mouth to argue again, but he shut it before any words came out. Loathe as he was to admit it, Snape might actually have a point.

Ugh. Harry resisted the urge to shudder at conceding the small victory to Snape.

He shuffled back on his bed so that he was sitting against the headboard this time and pulled the covers over his lap. "Okay, fine. So…um, what's your solution, then?"

"I've no idea."

Harry waited another moment, certain he either must have heard wrong or that Snape wasn't finished. When the man didn't say another word, Harry simply stared. "What – what do you mean, you've no idea? You always have ideas! _Unwanted_ ideas. And opinions and lectures and insults and –"

"I meant exactly what I said, Potter," Snape interrupted, looking him over in the critical way that Harry knew meant he was currently poring over dozens of possible solutions in his head and testing them for merit. "I've no idea how to force you to concentrate when you refuse to do so. No mind can be forced to learn." Snape paused, then continued, "We shall need to hypothesize until we come to a proven solution."

"Hypothesize?"

"As you will be pleasantly absent from the Sixth year Potions class, allow me explain a few principles which will be taught to those exemplary students."

Harry lifted his chin in a show of defiance. "What makes you think I won't be taking Potions next year?"

"I have recently received and reviewed every fifth year students' Potions OWLs, Potter. Your grade of "E," while shockingly higher than I had expected for you to receive, is unacceptable for my advanced Potions classes, and you will therefore not be admitted."

Harry blinked but recovered from the declaration to defensively utter, "Yeah, well, what makes you think I would have wanted to take it next year, anyway?"

Snape smirked. "Are you counting on your celebrity to win you the post of Auror then?"

"Of course not!" he shouted. He lowered his voice to ask suspiciously, "How…how did you know about my wanting to be an Auror?"

"While I do not owe you an explanation, I was, in fact, informed by the headmaster. For some reason unbeknownst to me, he occasionally feels it necessary to keep me abreast of your progress via unsolicited information. It is no doubt one more way in which he has attempted to force the two of us to come to an understanding."

"Um…oh." The prophecy. Of course. Dumbledore might have given his word to not outright force them to work together, but there he was again, always behind the scenes trying in little ways to make each more tolerant of the other.

In light of that prophecy, Harry heard a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him that maybe he _should_ try to be more tolerant of Snape. But nagging thoughts were hard for Harry to follow sometimes, mainly because they were nagging against what he really wanted to do…which was to continue to blindly hate the professor.

"I believe my point has been proven," came Snape's voice in interruption to his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Your inability to continue this conversation due to your meandering thoughts has proven my point."

"I was thinking! That _implies_ focus, not the other way around! And there's no law against it, you know. Everybody's mind wanders, even yours!"

"You know my mind?" Snape crossed his arms, quirking his eyebrow in mocking amusement. "And not even having mastered Occlumency. Impressive."

Harry heaved a longsuffering sigh. "So what's this about Sixth year Potions?"

Thankfully, Snape answered without further mockery. "The Sixth year Potions curriculum introduces the invention and experimentation of potions, hence my requirement that only the most advanced students be admitted. Students with the tendency to blow up their cauldrons while working from detailed instructions do tend to pose a danger when expected to brew with no instructions whatsoever." Harry couldn't help a slight nod at the thought of Neville working without even the aid of written directions. He stopped himself from visibly shuddering.

"That aside," Snape continued, "in order to experiment, one must hypothesize. In this way, we must conjecture how best to master the clearing of your mind, then test each method until proven or unproven."

Harry felt like shaking his head at Snape's drawn out logic. "So, um…all that explaining was just to say that we should make a guess and see if it works."

"That is the general idea. My explanation was quite more precise, of course."

"Um, yeah. Of course."

Snape narrowed his eyes, intelligent enough to know when he was being mocked.

Harry thought better than to let him dwell on it. "So…what's your first guess, then?"

"Hypothesis, Potter. Guessing implies a lack of intelligent thought."

Harry stared at his professor. How could one person be so infuriating, even when they were supposedly trying to help? "Fine. Hypothesis. What is it then?"

"Lie down. We will begin by engaging your senses."

Harry shuffled down until he was flat on his back again, covers up to his chin. "My senses?"

"Sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. Surely you have heard of them. Many people have a dominant sense. If we isolate and use your dominant sense as the object of your focus, we may get somewhere."

"Erm…okay." It didn't totally make sense, and he didn't want to think about how taste might factor into this. Was Snape planning on pouring something gross onto his tongue or something? Ew. Harry didn't want to dwell on all the ways that Snape could potentially make his life miserable in these few minutes alone.

Snape rose. "We shall begin with the sense of hearing."

"Hearing? Um…not…um, you're not really going to…erm–"

"No, Potter," Snape interrupted with a scowl, "I am _not_ going to sing."

Harry relaxed and couldn't help his rather loud sigh of relief. At a glare from Snape, he immediately schooled his features. It was hard, though, as the humor of the situation suddenly caught up with him. It was funny, he had to admit – the idea of Snape singing coupled with the surrealism of the situation. Snape was basically helping Harry go to sleep. _Snape._

If only he could see Ron's face right about now.

He didn't mean to start laughing. Not really. Especially since Snape was already talking, droning on about useless information such as how sounds are processed by the brain. But he couldn't seem to stop himself, either. It just erupted inside of him until he couldn't hold it in anymore and it burst out of him. Not light chuckles, either. Real laughter. The side-splitting laughter that one tries to stop but can't, no matter that the professor had stopped his speech to stare at him with an equal mixture of confusion and disdain.

Which just made Harry laugh harder, until he had to sit up from gasping for air.

"I fail to recognize what is so incredibly hilarious, Potter. You will desist with the tomfoolery immediately!"

Harry tried to talk through what was now a fit of rather embarrassing giggles at Snape's raised voice, but all he could manage was, "I…can't…stop!"

Before Harry knew it, Snape was over him, his hand pressed to Harry's forehead. Harry swatted it away, finally beginning to get his giggles under control.

"You feel warm. Are you ill?" Snape asked, confusion and disdain now replaced by something nearing concern.

That was unsettling enough to further help Harry to get his outburst under control. It was still hard to talk, though, with gasping for air between lingering giggles. "No…not sick. Just…tired, I guess. It…was all so funny…"

"Apparently _something _was funny, Mr. Potter, and I needn't have you explain just what at this juncture." Snape paused, watching him so critically that, once finally under control, Harry just about darted for the door. "I think perhaps that you are rather too tired to continue with this exercise at this time. No doubt this exhaustion has been brought on by your latest disturbing vision."

"No! No, I'm fine, I swear! I…really need to learn to clear my mind, professor. I know that now. I can concentrate, I swear." Despite his flaming face, he pulled a pretty good face of complete earnestness. Because really, he could think of nothing he'd like doing less than having Snape teach him to clear his mind. But…he had to do it. Because memories of that vision were chasing away any lingering hilarity that moments ago had engulfed him.

Snape watched him for going on a full minute before finally giving in. "Very well. We shall dispense with the background knowledge and proceed to the exercise."

He took his wand from the pocket of his robes and pointed it at Harry.

Harry shot up, hands in the air. "Whoa! Don't point that wand at me before telling me what you're doing!"

Snape lowered his wand a bit, and Harry moved his leg. It still seemed to be in the path of the wand.

"You will think of a pleasant memory," ordered Snape without apology for causing the scare. "Focus on that memory until you have blocked out everything save what you hear. Once you have isolated the sound or sounds, you will indicate as such to me, and I shall cast a simple spell to magnify that sound within the room. The tangible noise will hopefully aid you in your efforts to concentrate on that one memory, blocking all else from your conscious mind."

"Oh. That doesn't sound so bad."

"Need we discuss the qualifications of a pleasant memory this time, Potter?" Snape questioned pointedly.

Harry almost scowled but managed not to as he placed his glasses on the bedside table, then laid back and closed his eyes. "No, sir. I got it."

Think of a pleasant memory? Well, apparently the cupboard was out. Flying. Yes, flying was the first thing that had popped into his mind last time, so flying it was. He concentrated, imagining himself flying high on his broom above the earth, basking in the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind.

The wind.

Doing his best to focus, he thought only of the whistle of the wind assaulting his ears. Focus. Focus.

"Okay, I got it."

He tried to keep focusing on the wind and not on what Snape might be doing with his wand, and a moment later he opened his eyes in amazement when the sound of the wind actually _was _whistling around his ears. "Wow! That's brilliant."

"'Brilliant' or no, Potter, close your eyes and concentrate on the sound."

"Oh. Right."

It was odd, this hearing the wind whistling throughout the room, but not actually feeling it. But still, he tried to focus.

Flying. Quidditch. Wind.

Flying. Quidditch. Wind.

Blocking out all else, Harry didn't even get excited when it started to work, so caught up was he in his memory. As he slowly started to drift off to sleep, he even forgot about Snape's presence as he focused on the wind and only the wind.

Slowly, ever slowly, he heard the freedom of the whistling wind calm his nerves and soothe his fears. He flew on his broom in the depths of his mind, alternately enjoying the freedom of flight and chasing a glorious golden snitch.

Ha! The feeling of triumph ran through him as he closed his fist around a snitch and raised his arm in the air.

He looked down, expecting the uproarious sounds of an exhilarated crowd. But there was no crowd.

It was Hogwarts. In ruins. And death. His friends.

His vision.

"No!" Harry awoke with a start and shot straight up in bed, gasping for breath.

"Potter?" A body was coming closer to him, and Harry frantically shuffled away. The body stopped. "Was it a vision?"

Harry looked up now, into Snape's blurry face, blinking as the images faded into the real world of his bedroom and his professor.

"Wha…what?"

"A vision, Potter," Snape repeated, more urgently now. He sat next to Harry, grasping his shoulders before he could back away again, dark eyes watching him intently. "Did you just receive a vision from the Dark Lord?"

Voldemort? Harry shook his head. "No. Um, no. Just normal…dream stuff," he explained lamely, allowing a final shudder at the horrible memory before forcefully shoving it from his mind. It was hard to do, but he gave it all he had. "Was…was I asleep for very long?"

Snape didn't answer right away, just continued to search his eyes until Harry felt about ready to sink into the bed and never face Snape again. Harry dropped his eyes to the blanket still covering his legs and grasped a corner with his hand – _anything_ to distract him from one more humiliation involving nightmares and Snape.

"Only just," Snape finally stated in response to his question. "No more had you appeared to fall asleep than you awoke quite abruptly. You are _certain_ it was not a vision?"

Harry shook his head. "I, erm…I guess that…um, that hypothesis didn't work so well," he offered, shrugging away from Snape's hold on him.

Snape removed his hands from Harry's shoulders but remained seated next to him. "So it would appear," he answered simply. "We will move on to the sense of touch."

"So, um…I guess I'm supposed to imagine the feel of wind this time, instead of the sound, huh?"

"No. I am beginning to see the problem inherent in using your memories as a trigger."

"Well, before you try to say I picked a dud of a memory this time, I _swear _I picked a good one! I love flying!"

"I have seen you play Quidditch, Potter; I do not doubt the truth in that statement. However, this is the second time you have used a seemingly positive memory with negative results. The first time I gather you were simply unsuccessful; this time it led directly to a nightmare."

"Um…yeah, so…what's that supposed to mean, then?"

"It would be a reasonable deduction that your positive memories are too closely linked with your negative memories…of which you seem to have quite a few," Snape added quietly, studying Harry oddly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the probing gaze. "Oh." What could he possibly say to that? It didn't take a genius who knew even Harry's past few years to figure that out. Well, it wasn't that Harry had bad memories all the time. No, in fact, he had loads of happy memories with his friends and at school. But…even thoughts of friends and school were enough to bring his worries to the surface again.

He swallowed, hard, at another thought of his vision…of his friends' bodies on Hogwarts' burned grounds.

"Lie back," Snape's quiet voice interrupted his disturbing thoughts. "We will try something different."

Harry obeyed, too tired to put up a fight.

Snape cleared his throat and reached out a hand, holding it just above Harry's chest. "I am going to lay my hand over your heart, Potter," he warned. "Do us both the favor of not expecting me to curse you this time. A temporary allowance of trust will be helpful, if not expected."

He waited for Harry's wary nod before placing his hand on Harry's chest.

Harry was at least glad that this time he moved slowly, giving Harry a chance to anticipate his movements. But still…he couldn't help it; he flinched when the hand touched him.

Snape ignored Harry's obvious unease to delve right into his next lesson. "Touch is concrete. It is tangible. It relies less on memory and more on your immediate perceptions."

Harry lay still, barely breathing, the hand like a dead weight on his chest.

"Close your eyes and concentrate on the feel of my hand."

Sure. Easy enough. Not like Harry could concentrate on anything else. He really, really wanted this – whatever this was – over with. Now.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Think of nothing else."

In. Out. Breathe. All the usual involuntary things he didn't usually have a problem doing. He shifted, but the weirdness of the situation didn't get any less weird. He opened his eyes and shoved the hand away, sitting up. "Okay, it isn't working. Maybe we should move on to taste, now?"

Snape shoved him back down with one hand. "This is not my idea of an appealing evening spent either, Mr. Potter. Now, close your eyes. Concentrate."

Concentrate. Yeah, right. He couldn't. Several moments passed, and try as he might, Harry couldn't focus on anything but the fact that Severus Snape's hand was within gripping distance of his heart.

How was he possibly expected to sleep, knowing that?

The only thing that kept him from getting right back up again was the knowledge that Snape wouldn't let him get away with it.

In. Out. Breathe. Try as he might, he couldn't block all his other senses from operating in overdrive in his attempt to think of anything _but _how close Snape was to him.

A stair creaked somewhere in the house. Did Mrs. Black's portrait hear that? Wait. Harry didn't remember hearing a word from her portrait since they arrived. Was it still here? There were plenty of times they had to have been loud enough to…

Snape's hand shifted. Oh. Right. Concentrate. Breathe in. Out.

There was a familiar scent in the air. Harry couldn't place it. An earthy scent, such as he might smell in Herbology class. It was mixed with something…cinnamon, maybe? And other smells – potions ingredients?

He suddenly realized that it was the smell of Snape. But with Harry's eyes closed, it didn't smell like "horrible Potions master." It smelled…well, strangely like the longed-for escape from a nightmare.

The smell _was_ familiar – it had been the first thing to assail his senses when he'd been rescued from his death-filled nightmare back at the Dursleys. And it smelled like a presence he'd nearly forgotten – a presence that had spoken softly to him once within a dream.

It smelled of comfort and protection. It smelled like safety.

He barely noticed when he began to drift off to sleep. And he didn't notice when the weighty hand was removed from his chest. All he knew as his breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep was that with each breath he took, the scent of safety stayed by his side.

And it didn't leave until long after he had fallen asleep.

…

Harry felt the heat on his face first. It was a pleasant heat, like that of the sun on a warm summer day. He sniffed the air, smiling when the scents of freshly cut grass and popsicles entered his nostrils. Sure enough, he opened his eyes to an expanse of green grass bordering a shimmering blue lake. As he watched, adults and children alike strolled and played and sat under a sky which was the beautiful blue color that makes one believe nothing could ever be wrong with the world.

Harry felt his heart drop. One would think nothing could be wrong, but he knew better. Everything that could go wrong would, no matter the color of the sky. Everything always did.

"Harry!"

Harry started, turning toward a strangely familiar voice. It took him a moment to locate its source. A woman was walking along the shore of the lake, a hat hiding his view of her face, and she had a small, raven-haired little girl in tow. They walked past Harry as if they hadn't seen him.

"Harry!" she called again happily, just in time for Harry to swivel to see her greeting an older version of himself. "Somebody's been missing you."

As Harry watched, his older self laughed and reached for the little girl, throwing her up in the air amidst squeals of delight before catching her and holding her close.

"More, daddy!" called the little girl through her giggles.

Harry froze and couldn't hear anything over the rushing in his ears. Daddy? Him? _Daddy? _

He looked around. This was a dream. And it was very real. So the only question was…where was Other Harry?

"Right here," came a voice to his left. Other Harry was a few paces away, lying on his back in the sun, eyes closed. "And you thought that I would only bring you visions of horror," he commented lazily, obviously enjoying basking in the warmth of the day.

"Horror is relative," Harry retorted. "What is this? I'm not a dad! I'm not ready to be a dad!"

His older self kissed the woman, put an arm around her shoulder, and the three strolled away as if without a care in the world.

"And I'm not married or whatever, either!"

Other Harry opened an eye to squint up at Harry. "No, I should say not. You will notice that you are quite a bit older than sixteen here. There is no reason to believe that you will be forced to enter into the horrors of domestic bliss at this young point in your life."

Harry crossed his arms. "You think this is funny, don't you?"

"Yes, very much," answered Other Harry, finally rising to a sitting position in order to better converse. He was smiling, obviously enjoying this vision much more than the others in which Harry had found himself.

Harry felt his heart sink at a sudden thought. "If you're here…if I'm having a vision, then…clearing my mind didn't work, did it?"

"It worked," Other Harry answered pleasantly. "I can tell. It is easier for me to reach you when your mind is free from distraction. I had an amazingly easy time of it tonight."

"Oh. Um, alright then." Well. That answered Harry's questions about whether the usual rules applied to his own subconscious.

Other Harry gestured toward the retreating family, a silent bid for Harry to watch.

Harry did, though he was lost as to the significance of this vision. If this was another future, it obviously couldn't be a certain one, if a different possible future had involved his death. But still, he watched, if for no other reason than to get to the point where he could ask Other Harry some of his latest questions.

The small family stopped near a group of people, and Harry saw more than a few redheads throughout the group. He stepped a bit closer and made out Ron and a few of his brothers. Then he saw Neville and Luna and several of their classmates. He saw many more faces that he recognized, and several that he didn't. And the children! There were children running around everywhere, playing with the little dark-haired girl who had called Harry "daddy." She obviously knew them very well.

The next thing Harry noticed about all of them was that they looked so carefree and happy. Mostly they seemed carefree, as if they were out for a day of fun without the worry of attack or capture – without the worry of war.

"This is a vision of what life will be like if we win the war." He turned back around. "Isn't it?"

Other Harry nodded, still smiling. "It's nice, isn't it? A life without the threat of war. Wouldn't you like that for your children?"

Harry sat after another brief glance at the joyous gathering. "I…yeah, I mean, sure. But…well, I guess I haven't thought about it much. I'm not old enough. And with the war and Voldemort hunting me and all, I guess I figure…well, I might not live long enough to have my own family."

"It is possible, Harry: this life with a family of your own and no war. It may not mean much to you at this time. You are, after all, more than slightly preoccupied with thoughts of adolescence and defeating Lord Voldemort, both grueling tasks aside from each other. But if the time comes for you to live your life again, it would do you good to remember that it is possible."

"So who is she?" Harry craned his neck at the gathering.

"Who?"

"You know exactly who! The woman! I guess she must be my future wife, then, right? Well? Who is she?"

Other Harry grinned. "She is the love of your life. It may not be prudent for you to know more at this particular moment in time."

Harry scowled but didn't pry further. He knew it wouldn't do any good. He refocused his attention on Other Harry. "So I told Dumbledore and Snape about these visions…"

Other Harry nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"I…um, I believe you now. About seeing the future and all. Snape said to still be careful, so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes or anything, but…okay, so now that I know you know the future, can't you just tell me how the war's going to end? Instead of giving me all of these _possible _endings?"

"I wish that I could, but I cannot. It is as I explained before, Harry. Some futures are certain; some are possibilities. I cannot predict which possibility will occur unless it is revealed to me. I can, however, see the paths which lead to each future and will do my best to guide you to the correct one."

"Guide me, huh? Ok, so what first?"

Other Harry chuckled. "This is not a to-do list, Harry. There is no step one and step two. There are merely a few facts of which you need to be aware."

Harry stifled a barrage of questions, endeavoring to be patient while Other Harry settled back to begin his sharing of facts.

"The future I revealed to you in our first meeting was a vision of loss. This future which you find yourself in now is a vision of triumph. One will happen if you lose the war; the other will happen if you win."

"And the vision of the basement? Of me being captured? What about that one?"

"That, Harry, is the turning point of this war."

"I don't get how it can be. I was unconscious; I couldn't do anything. How can I change the course of the war in a moment when I'm paralyzed? Or do I need to avoid capture? Is that it? Wait, _can_ I? You said it was a certainty. Can one ever escape a certainty?"

"Harry," his other self began slowly, as if putting off what he was about to say, "in our previous meeting, I explained to you that the outcome of the war depended upon you escaping from capture. I did not dare explain one more important fact until you had the chance to see the truth in these visions. Harry, the truth is…the war hinges on more than merely your escape. It depends also upon your capture. You…_must_ be captured."

Both were silent for a moment as Harry processed the unexpected declaration.

"What – You're…um, you're joking, right? I don't need to be captured by Voldemort, thank you very much."

"You must allow yourself to be captured, or Voldemort will win. His plan is flawed, Harry. He will gain strength, yes, but in order for you to be able to defeat him, he must be allowed that strength."

"What!" Harry leapt to his feet, now horrified at seeing that Other Harry was completely serious. "You're trying to get me to believe the only way I can win is to give up? Snape was right! You _are_ from Voldemort!"

"Harry, listen –"

"No! Let me out of here! Go away and make me wake up!"

"It will happen soon, Harry! I could not keep this information from you any longer. You must be ready!"

"Well, I don't understand, okay? If you want me to trust you so much, then tell me! Tell me how this will change the war exactly! How does making Voldemort the strongest wizard who ever lived improve my chances of defeating him?"

"If I explain all that I know, things will not happen as they should–"

"You sound like Dumbledore!"

"Perhaps."

"Now you sound like Snape!"

Other Harry scanned the crowd of laughing people below. Sadness was in his eyes as he looked back to Harry. "This is the moment when you must decide, Harry. Voldemort will continue to hunt you until he has gained what he set out to do. I have seen the future," he stressed fervently. "You believe that now. Even now, hearing what I have to say, I know that you believe it. Listen to me, Harry. _Voldemort will capture you._ If you wait for it to happen on his terms, you will have no hope of escape. The war will be lost. This," he swept his arms over the happy scene below, "will never be."

"I don't believe you," Harry whispered, knowing even as he said it that he did believe. He didn't want to trust this vision of himself, but he was compelled by something as unbelievingly strong as had once compelled him to catch a flittering golden snitch.

He believed because he knew it was true.

"If..." Harry licked his suddenly parched lips and crossed his shaking hands over his chest. "If I've got to be captured on my own terms, um…well, what exactly are my own terms?"

"There is only one person thoroughly capable of rescuing you from Voldemort's lair, and that person must be in a position to do so. Now is the time to decide if you trust him enough to place your life in his hands."

Harry didn't have to ask. They both knew who he was talking about. "And…the time to decide if, by extension, I trust him with the outcome of the war. That is…what it comes down to, isn't it?"

Other Harry nodded, his sorrowful gaze enough to tell Harry how sorry he was at having to lay this burden on Harry's shoulders. "I informed you of the existence of the other prophecy for a reason, Harry. Having all of the facts...well, it seemed an important fact in this instance."

Harry's throat had gone dry, and he couldn't even manage a nod. So here it was. The awful truth. Could he really, truly trust Snape with his life? With the war? _Snape_?

Sure, the Potions professor hadn't proven as horrible a housemate as Harry had initially dreaded…aside from the smelly toads, that is. He had helped him, even, with homework and with clearing his mind. It was something that he was doing because of the war, but still…

He had comforted Harry. Reluctantly, sure, but…reluctance or no, Harry had _felt_ comforted. And then there was Sirius' mirror…

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Harry asked woodenly.

"That is all."

Harry nodded his acceptance, and a moment later, Other Harry had vanished.

Harry knew by now the nature of these visions. He blinked his eyes and tried to wake, just in case it worked. It didn't.

It was odd, this feeling awake but not being awake, and Harry could not figure why, since he knew he was dreaming, it was always so difficult to wake.

Perhaps it was Snape having been the focus of his thoughts moments before, or perhaps it was his earlier dreamlike realization that Snape had been the presence to help him from his last two visions that caused him to think of the man now.

He tried a few more times to wake, to no avail, then sighed and sat up on the grass in his dream and called as loudly as he dared, "Snape!"

He listened. Nothing. Could he hear anything outside his dream? He was new at this. He knew he was in his room asleep, but he didn't know if anything he said could be heard or if he was just yelling in his dream inside his head.

He tried again. "PROFESSOR SNAPE!"

Nothing.

He sighed. It was just as well. It was a rather nice day in his dream. There really was no urgency to escape as had been the case with his first two visions, was there?

No sooner had he decided to lie back and enjoy the scenery indefinitely when he heard the sound of a door and footsteps. He looked around. There was no door anywhere near the lake.

"What part of 'call the house-elf' is so difficult to grasp, Potter?" came a tired voice from somewhere above him. But there wasn't anyone above him.

Oh, yeah. Dream. Professor Snape. Right. Now that he was there, Harry was realizing the difficulty in separating elements of his dream from reality.

"Professor?" he tried, still not sure if he was speaking aloud or in his dream.

"Finally, at a more respectable volume."

Harry frowned. Why was Snape being so snarky? It wasn't like Harry knew how loud he could be heard, was it? Oh, wait. It was Snape. He was always snarky. Well, alright, then.

"Potter?" The professor's voice was more alert now. No, not alert. More like on guard.

"I know it's a dream," Harry tried to speak to the waking Snape. "Are you real? Or a part of the dream?"

When his statement was met with silence, Harry sighed. Then it wasn't real.

But Snape's voice came again, closer and softer this time, "Where are you this time, Harry?"

Harry frowned again, confusion overcoming his momentary relief at being answered. Since when did Snape call him _Harry_? He slumped back in the grass. So much for thinking he knew what was what. The Snape voice he thought was real was just another dream. He plucked a blade of grass and tossed it aside.

"Harry? Did you hear me?" came the soft Snape voice of his dream within a dream. "Where are you?"

"Go away," grumbled Harry. "You're just another dream. So go 'way."

"I am not a dream. _You_ are in the dream, remember?"

"I'm not as dumb as that. Snape doesn't call me 'Harry.' Go 'way. You're not real."

There was a pause, surprisingly followed by a chuckle and a drawled, "No, _Potter_. I do not call you Harry. My mistake."

Harry lifted his face. The sun was still shining down on it, and he thought momentarily about what it would be like never to wake. It was nice here. Why had he been in a hurry to escape it?

No. He shook his head. He couldn't live in dreams. Not when the real world was counting on him. "Please…if you're real, help me to wake up."

"Here," Snape's voice came as a hand touched his chin. "Drink this."

"No!" Harry jerked from the hand as quickly as he could. "I need to wake, not to sleep! The vision can't wait!"

Snape's voice had lost its mirthful edge when next he spoke. "A vision? What was in the vision, Harry?"

Harry frowned. There it was – that name again. His, but the sound was all wrong.

"_Potter_," Snape tried again, "tell me."

"Need to wake up," Harry repeated. How many times did he have to say it?

Before he could think of another way to get his point across, he felt his upper body lifted and pressed to something warm and breathing.

"Focus, Potter. Focus on the waking world. Focus on the touch, the sounds. Focus."

A heart was beating next to his cheek. It was a familiar place, and the more he felt it the more a familiar scent filled his nostrils.

The moment he woke he knew it. Snape was holding him against his chest, as he had done once before when waking Harry from a nightmare. Harry had been screaming then, but he hadn't screamed this time.

He felt safe like he hadn't felt in a long time, and the oddest thing of all was that now he was awake, he couldn't pretend to himself that someone other than his enemy was the one holding him. Or that he was unaware that he'd held on a few moments longer than he'd had to.

He breathed deeply of the scent of potions and safety before pushing himself away from its cradling arms.

He looked his professor in the eyes. "He…I saw the future. We need to get Dumbledore. Now."

…

_**Kirby's Notice to Avoid Premature Speculation:**__ Any character featured in JK Rowling's HP universe has the potential to make an appearance in Kirby Lane's version of said universe and should not be construed as the setting up of a pairing. ;) Several of you have asked or commented, so I thought I should lay your questions to rest: The main point of the future wife in Harry's vision wasn't who she is, but what she represents for Harry. So no, you will not discover her identity in this story. That said…IF there is a sequel and IF she is a part of that story (I haven't decided either for certain except that I plan to wrap up this story so that it stands on its own without needing a sequel), it still wouldn't be the focus – it would be a subplot to the budding mentoring relationship between Harry and Snape. _

_Thank you for the reviews! Gimme more! Ooh, that sounded ungrateful, didn't it? Well, to make up for it, I'll get started on the next chapter…fair enough?_


	21. A Lesson in Being Gryffindor

**Chapter Twenty-One – A Lesson in Being Gryffindor**

"No! Absolutely not!" ordered Snape, not for the first time.

"Profess–" Harry tried in vain to interrupt, _also_ not for the first time.

"Why are you still speaking? I said no!"

"Severus, please sit. I do think we ought to hear Harry out on this," was Dumbledore's long awaited input.

Harry might have laughed at the speechless stare Snape directed at Dumbledore if the situation hadn't been so serious. Ever since Harry had finished explaining his vision in as much detail as he could manage, Snape had been ranting about the certainty of Voldemort having gotten hold of Harry's mind and the foolishness of doing anything other than destroying their connection – even if it meant giving in to the undesirable notion of drugging Harry with twice-nightly doses of Dreamless Sleep potion.

Harry's suggestion that they at least talk about the capture scenario had caused Snape – to coin a Muggle term – to "go off the deep end." Harry hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise since.

Now, however, they were all three as silent as Dumbledore had been most of the time Harry and Snape had monopolized the conversation.

Not surprisingly, Snape broke the silence first. "Albus. You cannot seriously be considering this for anything resembling truth. An apparition has given your golden boy the message that he must allow himself to be captured by one who will not only kill him, but first will become invincible through the use of him. There is nothing to discuss!"

"Sit, Severus," Dumbledore commanded calmly. Too calmly. Harry looked closely and thought he saw a slight tremor in the old man's hands. It shouldn't have reassured him to see that, but it did. If a powerful wizard such as Dumbledore could feel uneasy enough for Harry to see it, then he felt a little bit better about his own rising apprehension.

Snape sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore and Harry, his jaw set into a hard line, waiting for Dumbledore to speak.

The drawing room felt very small to Harry, seated as they all now were around the small table. The fact that he had yet to change out of his nightclothes didn't help; it only made him feel more like a little kid in the middle of a worsening nightmare. Snape, on the other hand, looked just as he always did: head to foot in his usual black garb – only, lately he'd been without the robes Harry was used to seeing. Despite the solemnity in the air, Harry couldn't help the curious thought: Did the man sleep in his clothes, too? Just to be at the ready for emergencies such as this? (If he even slept, of course, which Harry had previously decided remained to be determined.)

"Harry? Alright, there?" came a voice through his thoughts.

"Huh?" Harry jerked his head toward Dumbledore's voice. "Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry, just…thinking." He grasped his water glass tightly, taking a sip simply because it was there. Even wondering about Snape's strange habits was preferable to figuring out whether he needed to let himself be captured by his mortal enemy. He shivered, then took another sip.

"Let us examine the facts," Dumbledore stated composedly, continuing with the original conversation. Snape crossed his arms in a childish display of stubbornness, which Dumbledore ignored. "This person of Harry's visions has seen the future previously. Two instances were so brief and inconsequential as to be easily explained away by a teenaged imagination. However, in light of his more important knowledge of a prophecy previously known to only two trustworthy individuals, I…am inclined to at least explore the possibility that this vision of Harry's is true."

Snape scowled. "This is foolishness, Albus! Even discussing–"

"And yet I have decided that we _will _discuss it," interrupted Dumbledore. "I have not rendered my opinion as yet, but every avenue must be explored and weighed and decided upon. The fact remains that Harry's vision did hold a grain of truth that neither you nor I can deny."

Harry looked back and forth between Snape and Dumbledore, biting his tongue even though a few minutes before he had tried his utmost to speak. For now, he was just glad that they weren't kicking him out of the room to discuss this without him.

Dumbledore went on, still speaking directly to Snape, "Voldemort has been singularly focused on his goal of locating Harry. He will not stop until he has captured him and believes that he has obtained all that he can obtain from him. Come September, I…I am very afraid that enough Hogwarts students are loyal to Voldemort's side already to make Harry in grave danger no matter the protections I place over him. However, if Voldemort truly believes that he has accomplished his goal and that Harry holds no more gain or threat for him, he will no longer pursue him, thereby leaving Harry free to prepare for his inevitable role in this war."

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?" Snape exploded, leaning forward so that his hands tightly gripping the sides of his chair were the only things keeping him from rising to his feet again. "This is not the first time he has sought after Potter, and never before has something so daft been suggested! The Dark Lord _might_ have a chance of snatching Potter, so we may as well hand him over of our own volition? Damn it, Albus! He may win the entire war; shall we hand over victory in its entirety right now? Give me the floo powder and a white flag – I'll do the honors!"

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, his silence more effective in commanding Snape to get his temper under control than any words would have been. As soon as Snape sat back into his chair with re-crossed arms, Dumbledore went on, "Harry's vision was also correct that if Voldemort does manage to take him during the upcoming year, there will be no apparent avenue of escape."

"And just where is this supposed avenue of escape now?" Snape burst again, his temper apparently not satisfied with remaining under control. "Despite that apparition's flattering assertions that I may be able to retrieve Potter, the Dark Lord is not exactly known for welcoming hated traitors back into the fold! My communications having been cut off from all save one decidedly unreliable avenue, it would be nearly impossible to discover where they are holding him, _who_ is holding him, _how_ they are holding him, how to penetrate that location, when –"

"Professor Snape?" Harry didn't know how he managed to pull the confidence to speak loudly enough to stop Snape's rant, but he did. Now that the attention was on him, though, his sudden inspiration didn't seem quite so magnificent. "I, um…that is, wouldn't he…let you back in if he thought you weren't really a traitor?"

Snape sneered. "Thank you for that brilliant deduction, Potter. I do not suppose you have thought of a way by which I may convince one of the most powerful and intelligent wizards in the world that I am not the traitor I have already undeniably proven myself to be? I do prefer it to be before he familiarizes me with his favorite killing curse, of course."

Harry licked his lips nervously. "Um, actually…if you were on his side and just falsely accused of being a spy, wouldn't it make sense that you'd want to prove yourself with some grand gesture? So…make a grand gesture. Something he would never think you'd do if you weren't still his man."

Snape laughed, but it was a laugh void of amusement, a laugh Harry hoped never to hear again. "Shall I lick his boots, then? Tell him a secret he already knows? Or perhaps I should help him to destroy Hogwarts – aid along another one of your futuristic visions?"

Harry shivered at the reference. "Erm...no. Actually, I was thinking the grand gesture would be something more along the lines of…me."

For once, Harry seemed to have surprised Snape into silence. Harry continued, "Well? It makes sense, doesn't it? No spy for the light would ever willingly bring me to what he thought was my death, especially knowing that it would make Voldemort all-powerful, right? If we wait for him to capture me, you'll still be a traitor and I'll wind up dead. But if _you_ take me to him, not only will it prove in his mind that you're loyal, but then you'll be in place to help get me out of there!" Harry leaned forward, excited at how much sense it all suddenly made. "That's got to be what Other Harry meant about me being captured on my own terms! And if we do it right, Voldemort won't even have to know it was you helped me escape, and the Order will have its spy back! It makes perfect sense, don't you see?"

Snape said nothing for a moment, then he abruptly leaned forward, his face close to Harry's. "You. Are. Mad," he hissed before abandoning his seat to resume his previous pacing around the room. He stopped long enough to send Harry another glare. "Completely _mad_!"

Dumbledore reached over to place a hand on top of one of Harry's. His eyes were kind. "Do you fully understand what you are suggesting, Harry?"

Harry nodded, gulping as he did so. "I…I'm not saying let's go find him and do it right now, or even ever, at least without a plan or anything. I'm just saying…well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" He searched Dumbledore's attentive gaze for some kind of confirmation. "Doesn't it?" he repeated, actually hoping the headmaster would say that it didn't.

"It does," agreed Dumbledore gravely, to which Snape immediately shot him a murderous glare. "To regain Professor Snape's position and simultaneously remove you from Lord Voldemort's most wanted list would be quite the accomplishment," Dumbledore went on, "but truthfully, I am as yet unconvinced. There are many variables inherent in a plan such as the one which you are suggesting. And I will not allow either one of you to partake in so dangerous an endeavor without proof that this is, indeed, the way by which the war must be won."

"Oh." Harry felt a mixture of relief and disappointment, strangely enough. He didn't know why he believed his vision so much, but he did. And as afraid as he was to be incapacitated in a cold, dark basement, something deep inside of him was screaming at him that it was the only way.

Which reminded him…

"My vision self said that Voldemort's plan was flawed," Harry gave voice to his thoughts. "He said that Voldemort would gain strength, but that he had to gain that strength in order for me to defeat him. What…um, do you know what he might have meant by that, professor?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment, a contemplative gleam in his eyes, before answering, "I do not know, Harry. If given a certain amount of time to ponder the possible outcomes of Lord Voldemort's plan, I would no doubt be able to uncover a host of possibilities. But…no, I do not know what he meant by that statement."

"Does it matter?" Snape entered the conversation again, having thoroughly exhausted the room with his pacing. "The vision is an apparition! We were willing to consider the possibility that it may be Potter's Inner Eye, but in light of this revelation, we can obviously not consider that possibility any longer –"

"Why not? It saw the future!" Harry insisted.

"It saw pudding and cabbage, Potter! It fooled you!" Snape rounded on him, eyes blazing as he hissed, "And now it intends to kill you as well! Are you not the slightest bit concerned at the prospect of risking your life, you foolish, arrogant child?"

Harry felt his temperature rise. "Arrogant? We're back to that? Well, why don't you make up your mind already just what I am, _professor_? 'Cause it's getting hard for me to keep track!"

Snape's eyes narrowed, as if taking measure of Harry right then and there. Despite himself and his ire, Harry shrunk a little lower in his seat. Certainly, being appraised right then and at such intensity wasn't quite what he'd had in mind when he had issued the challenge. He glanced at Dumbledore for some assistance, but the headmaster didn't look too inclined to interrupt this latest disagreement.

"You, Mr. Potter," Snape finally spoke, slowly and deliberately, "_are_ arrogant."

Harry narrowed his eyes and felt his jaw involuntarily clench.

"Perhaps you are not arrogant to the degree that I have supposed you to be these past five years," Snape conceded quickly, as if to get the words out and be done with them, "but based on the simple fact that you are willing to throw your life away without regard to those who may be left behind in your wake, implies nothing _but_ a certain degree of arrogance."

"W-what? Hold on! I'm not throwing anything away! I am thinking about everybody else, don't you see? If I don't do this, he'll kill more people!"

"If you do this, he will kill perhaps even more people through his heightened abilities!" argued Snape.

"So…then what? We do nothing? Wait to see how many people he'll kill before we decide it's too many and we've no choice?"

"No. We avoid making a rash decision based on too little information, which will most certainly involve worsening an already dire situation!"

"No! I believe the vision!" Harry exploded, startling even himself with his own vehemence. Neither professor made any immediate move to say anything in response to his declaration, so he continued, "I didn't believe it at first, but even then, I knew I'd have to believe it, because I _know_ that he's right! If I don't do this – if I don't go to Voldemort now, it'll just get worse for everyone later! Turning myself in is the only way everything can turn out alright…um, well, if I get away, I mean…" he trailed off, losing some steam at the very real possibility that he might be unable to escape. No. He shoved that thought from his mind and went on, "So the only other thing stopping us is that he could become more powerful after getting his hands on my blood. Well, if Other Harry was right, and his plan really is flawed, then that's not an issue either!"

"_If_?" Snape ignored Harry to direct his incredulity to Dumbledore. "We cannot hinge the war on "if," Albus! Especially with a plan which requires the discretion of a 16-year old boy unrehearsed in the art of Occlumency!"

Snape began to pace once more, his words gaining more momentum with each step. "The Dark Lord will see the truth in his eyes upon first glance, especially in light of the doubt Potter will exude at every difficult turn. The boy does not trust me, Albus! We have established that fact. While I am unconcerned with trust or lack thereof on Potter's part toward myself, at the first sight of me among the Dark Lord's ranks, Potter will convince himself that he must act alone and indulge in one of his trademark rash actions, thereby betraying the entire plan, and by extension, both of our lives!"

Dumbledore answered Snape quickly, but Harry only half listened. All he could think about in light of Snape's rant were Other Harry's words:

_There is only one person thoroughly capable of rescuing you from Voldemort's lair, and that person must be in a position to do so. Now is the time to decide if you trust him enough to place your life in his hands._

…Now_ is the time to decide if you trust him…_

It was all so odd, sitting here in the familiar surroundings of Grimmauld Place's drawing room, contemplating the implications of allowing himself to put his complete faith in his worst enemy. Well, okay, second to worst enemy. He did, perhaps, rate slightly better than Voldemort.

His chest began to close in, and he forced himself to breath slowly. The situation was suddenly becoming more real. The reality of being all alone in a dark basement, practically comatose at the mercy of Death Eaters...with a lone spiteful Death Eater as his only route to safety…

Harry shivered, by now completely tuning out his professors' continuing arguments.

He had to do this. Other Harry had said so. And he knew that he could carry through with it…if only he could trust Snape.

_If._ That was a big word when pitted against his very life.

_If _he could trust Snape, this plan could leave Harry freer to prepare to fulfill his own prophecy without the constant threat of Voldemort behind every pillar.

_If _he could trust Snape, this plan could restore the place of the Order's spy.

_If _he could trust Snape, this plan could save the lives of whomever Voldemort had next decided to capture for information on Harry.

_If _he could trust Snape…Harry might have a future.

Despite all that he might gain, that was still a big if. He wrapped his arms around himself at more thoughts of basements and a super-powered Voldemort.

Harry exhaled loudly. He could be brave when it came down to it. He was a Gryffindor, after all, he thought with pride. But…that didn't mean he wasn't scared. Or feeling more terrified by the minute.

"I'd do it," he said suddenly, before he could change his mind or let the terror take over. He looked up to find both professors turning to stare at him. Harry had obviously interrupted them. "I'd do it. Er…you know, if you decide it's a plan. What…what I mean is, I – I'll trust Snape. _Professor _Snape, I mean," he added. "I…um, I would trust you to get me out of there," he added quickly to Snape, keeping his gaze steady. He knew despite his words that he didn't totally trust Snape yet, but he could _choose_ to, and that's all that really mattered for this to work…right?

Neither professor spoke in response to his declaration, and Harry smoothed his fringe with nervous fingers. Dumbledore looked to be deep in thought, and Snape…well, Snape just looked about as near to caught off guard as Harry had ever seen him. Well, it was really no wonder, Harry managed to reason. If _he'd_ heard _Snape_ announcing that he was going to trust Harry with his life, he'd probably be in a state of shock himself.

Of course, the shock promptly turned to a scowl. Harry knew Snape well enough by know to know that the professor couldn't believe for more than one second that Harry really was capable of trusting him to that degree.

It was Dumbledore who answered finally, softly, "Thank you, Harry, for your bravery." He paused to glance at Snape before continuing, "However, it appears that Professor Snape and I have come to the agreement that to proceed immediately with a plan of this magnitude would be unwise. We simply cannot risk it without more concrete information."

Harry nodded, eyes on the table. He felt relief. And, at the same time, he felt doubt and guilt. Because the longer they put this off…the longer Harry continued to run...well, who would Voldemort hunt next in his quest to find him? Would he forget about Harry's neighborhood and go after his friends next? The Weasleys maybe? Or Hermione?

"I should go," Dumbledore said into the now silent room. "Discovering more of the plan which Lord Voldemort has concocted is most certainly the key to my decision in this matter. While I am away, perhaps the two of you will wish to discuss your possible roles in this endeavor?"

A response not forthcoming from either Harry or Snape, Dumbledore moved toward the fireplace, and few moments later, he was gone in a swirl of floo powder.

Harry chanced another glance at Snape, who was still staring at Harry with a scowl on his face.

Harry shifted nervously. Maybe he should say something. But…what? He'd already given his declaration of trust; any more insistence would serve only to further convince both of them of the opposite.

Thankfully, before Harry could say something that he'd only regret later, Snape turned on his heel and swept abruptly from the room. He paused in the doorway, seeming to make up his mind about something, before turning ever so slightly toward Harry. "Come," he commanded, then disappeared toward the stairs.

Harry followed, of course. Where else was he going to go? He'd never be able to go back to sleep with all that was going through his mind, and homework seemed so trivial in comparison to thoughts of Voldemort and capture.

Snape had already begun gathering ingredients by the time Harry caught up to him in the laboratory. Uncertain what was expected of him, Harry lingered in the doorway, merely watching Snape's methodical movements. It didn't take the professor long to gesture for Harry to join him at his usual spot against one wall of the lab or to hand over a sheet of instructions.

"An Exceeds Expectations student should theoretically have no trouble brewing this potion. It is time to prove that your grade was not a stroke of luck or the result of cheating, Mr. Potter," Snape announced briskly before moving to his own set of empty cauldrons.

The comment could have been entirely snide, prompting Harry to respond with a sarcastic retort of his own, but Snape hadn't said it with his usual degree of malice. It was a good thing, too, Harry reflected, because his heart wasn't into coming up with a reply.

And so, with a shrug, Harry got to work, wordlessly chopping ingredients alongside an equally silent Snape.

It only took a few minutes of starting his brew and chopping ginger roots for Harry to acknowledge to himself that he was grateful to have something – even if it had to be Potions – to keep his overworked mind occupied. Having something to do besides thinking about Voldemort or, even worse, explaining to somebody else what he was thinking, was…well, it was nice. Not that he would admit to Snape that he'd just thought of anything involving Potions as "nice," of course.

Anyway, he still didn't enjoy it enough to understand why Snape spent so much time at it, but he supposed he could start to understand why it had such a calming effect upon Snape. Harry figured it had something to do with Snape's love for solving problems and puzzles. He mentally shrugged. Maybe all it took to make Snape bearable was to have a problem to solve, but the part Harry was beginning to enjoy was the mindless repetition of it all – chop this, grind that, stir once or twice. It gave the mind a well-needed rest.

"What is your greatest fear, Potter?" Snape asked suddenly.

Harry started at the sudden break to their silence. He turned to look at his professor. "Huh?"

"It seemed to me a simple question. If you require repeating, however, I –"

"No – um, I heard. I – um…w-what do you want to know that for?" Harry didn't particularly like thinking about what Snape could want with the answer to that unexpected question.

"You stated to me only recently that despite my knowledge of certain aspects of your life, I do not, in fact, know what matters most to you." Snape pierced him with a stare so sharp that Harry immediately looked away. "To paraphrase your words, I believe you said that I do not know what you think or feel about your childhood thus far, nor how it has made you selectively brave or afraid. We – you and I – are now perhaps approaching circumstances in which we shall be forced to trust each the other. You, that I would, in fact, deliver you from the Dark Lord's hand and me, that your fragile grasp on Occlumency would not give away our entire plan and both our lives. In light of that, I am well aware that despite your heartfelt declaration earlier today, you are not, in fact, prepared to trust me."

Harry thought for a moment and decided not to lie. "Okay, fine…maybe not," he answered honestly. "Maybe I'm not ready trust you. But…but I'm choosing to trust. And don't our choices define our actions? It's what Dumbledore says, anyway, and I…well, I believe that."

"Noble sentiment, Potter," Snape sneered, "but noble sentiments do not mean anything without solid evidence. Prove that if we proceed with this foolhardy plan, you will not destroy our chances of succeeding through a momentary lapse in your resolve to _choose_."

Harry didn't answer. He _couldn't_ answer. There was no way – _no way_ he was going to confide something so personal to Snape. He clamped his lips together in silent refusal.

Snape stalked closer to Harry, stopping short of reaching distance, so that Harry was forced to look into the dark tunnels that were his eyes. "I am well aware of the impossibility of you, Harry Potter, willingly depending upon _me_ in such a situation. Our past does not support your trust, and my performance as the Dark Lord's servant will not earn it. Additionally, it is more than likely that with you so available to him, the Dark Lord will use you in some capacity as a further test of my loyalty. If that time comes," he stressed, "I must know beyond a doubt that you will not reverse your decision to see such a plan through to the end."

"No," Harry whispered, unable to look away from Snape's mesmerizing stare, "No. What I mean is…I, um – I don't get it. You want me to prove that I won't give you away by telling you my greatest fear? How will that –"

"I want you to prove your readiness by handing me a weapon and trusting me not to use it," Snape stated, calmer now that he had Harry's undivided attention.

"But you _will_ use them!" Harry insisted. "As soon as we get back to school, you'll use them! You're a Slytherin! And you keep trying to make me think like one, too! Well, maybe I'm not as cunning as you want me to be, but I'm smart enough to know that words are just words. You can say all you want that you won't use it against me, but when the time comes, we both know that you _will_!"

Snape's eyes gleamed with something nearing triumph as he responded simply, "As you say, Mr. Potter, words _are_ just words. You can say all _you_ want that you will rely upon me, but when the time comes, we both know that you will not."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he shut it when he couldn't think of a good enough retort.

"Very well," said Snape, turning back to his potion. "I will inform Dumbledore to halt his research. We will not give any further consideration to this plan."

"But – but we have to!"

Snape stirred the contents of the nearest cauldron with one hand, his back still to Harry. "We will not embark on a joint undertaking unless you can prove to me that you are prepared to see this plan through to the end."

"But what about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Well, you said yourself a few minutes ago that I'm not the only one who needs to trust in this whole thing! You need to trust me, too, right? So…what about you? How are you going to prove to me that you won't ruin the whole thing by doubting that I'll do my part? If I've got to prove I can make the choice to trust you, then don't you have prove the same thing to me?"

"No. I do not."

"Yes, you do!" Harry didn't even care that he sounded childish, so indignant was he at Snape's double standard.

"No, I in fact do not, Potter!" Snape turned back to face him, glowering. "I am your elder and an accomplished spy. I am quite capable of making sane judgments under extraordinary pressure. _You_ will complete this conversation because, quite simply, when the Dark Lord forces me to torture or possibly maim you, the knowledge that I am not utilizing what I know to be your greatest fear will serve as a reminder to you that we are on the same side throughout this foolhardy plan!"

Harry blinked at Snape's passionate speech. "Oh…um. Oh," was all he could say at first. "Well, why didn't you explain it like that in the first place?"

"I did!" Snape sounded thoroughly exasperated.

"Uh, well, no. You didn't."

"I di–" Snape stopped mid-word, rubbing the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. After a moment, he snapped, "Just answer the bloody question!"

"What good is it going to do answering a question if I don't even know what point I'm proving to you?" Harry pointed out with forced calm. "If this question isn't only so I can prove to you that I trust you now, but more…more so you can prove to me that I can trust you later on…well, that's a different way of looking at it, isn't it?"

"I would imagine this will aid in both points, eventually," Snape snapped.

Harry thought for a moment, not caring about Snape's impatience to get this conversation over and done with. He studied Snape for a moment, then looked away. "You know, for all your claims to always be thinking Slytheriny –"

"'Slytheriny' is not a word, Potter –"

"Yeah, okay," Harry all but ignored him, "So for all your claims to be thinking Slytheriny all the time, I'd have thought you'd start out with the best way to get me to answer the question rather than beating around the bush so much."

"And I'd have thought you would see what 'beating around the bush' has to do with cunning!"

"Not the way you defined cunning yesterday! Well…okay, it's not like you really defined it exactly," Harry corrected, "but you're always thinking about how best to get what you want. I'd have thought you'd figured out by now sometimes the whole truth up front _is_ the way to get what you want."

"Are you trying to teach _me_ a lesson now, Potter?" Snape questioned, and Harry couldn't decide if the man looked amused or affronted. Maybe a little bit of both. Well, Harry figured, either one of the two was better than the anger he was radiating just a moment ago.

Harry couldn't help half-smiling to himself at the sudden humor of the situation. "Er, yeah. Yeah, maybe I am. A, erm – lesson in being Gryffindor." He chuckled before he could stop himself, then immediately straightened his face with a swift glance at Snape. Still no anger. He let out a small sigh of relief. "You know, Professor, just judging from everything you've got to have done for Dumbledore and the Order, and risking your life and all as a spy and everything, well…that's got to take an awful lot of bravery."

Snape's eyes narrowed swiftly in suspicion at what sounded dangerously close to a compliment, but he made no response.

"I mean, I was just thinking…for someone who hates Gryffindor House so much, you, er…" Harry paused, collecting himself for the amount of trouble he was about to be in, "Well, you _do_ have the main quality of a Gryffindor."

Snape visibly shuddered. "I am a Slytherin, Potter, not a sodding Gryffindor! Do not try to assign attributes to me which I do not possess. I am not in the least foolhardy or headstrong, as is practically every last member of that pompous House!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not a bully!" Harry shot back.

Snape crossed his arms, jaw set stubbornly, before he deigned to answer. "I do not recall having accused you of being such."

"Exactly!" Harry couldn't stop himself from getting worked up now. "You, yourself, told me that people are sorted by their positive attributes, _not_ their negative! Well, the sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin because I had a thirst to prove myself, _not _because it thought I could be a bully! So me saying you've got Gryffindor in you doesn't mean I'm saying you've got all of what you think are the bad qualities!"

Snape narrowed his eyes again at Harry. "Are you trying to articulate that you are paying me a compliment, Potter?"

Harry flushed. "C-compliment? N-no!" he denied automatically. "I'm just saying, um…well, I mean it, um…just struck me, is all, you know, that maybe you're not as totally Slytherin as I always thought, just like I'm maybe not as totally Gryffindor as you always thought…or, you know, something like that…" Harry flattened his fringe as his ramblings trailed off. What had he been thinking, opening up this whole can of worms? He closed his lips firmly, determined not to open them again unless he absolutely had to.

Snape crossed his arms, leaning his back against his potions table as he did so. After a moment, he spoke quite suddenly, "I do not like you, Potter."

The timing, if not the statement itself, was unexpected enough to cause Harry to bring his eyes up to meet Snape's.

Before Harry could fully process it, Snape continued his calm bluntness. "I have hated you, in fact, from the moment you were born. I will not bother denying a fact which we both know to be true: I would have been quite happy had you never come into existence."

It wasn't like Snape's words were surprising or anything new...so why did Harry felt as if he'd been stung? "Um…uh, gee. Thanks. Way to earn my trust," he muttered darkly.

"Despite that," Snape continued as if uninterrupted, "I have never wished harm to come to you."

Harry stared for a moment, then forgetting his earlier resolve, shot back, "Like hell you haven't!

"Well, not permanent harm at any rate," Snape conceded.

Harry just glared at him that time.

Snape threw up his hands. "Fine, Potter! I have never wished death on you! Are you quite happy now?"

Harry stared for another moment. Dare he say what was on his mind? And then he figured he may as well, if he'd been thinking it anyway while staring into the eyes of an Occlumens. "I don't believe you," he stated simply. "The only reason you maybe don't want me dead right now is because of the war. Other than that, you'd kill me yourself. Don't bother denying that _that's_ a fact we both know, either."

Snape held his gaze for a long moment, and at the man's silence coupled with his piercing black stare, Harry felt a sudden chill consume him. Oh, _god_. Maybe it was the confusion of the past few days, but even as Harry had said the words, he sort of didn't want to believe them anymore. But now… he knew that it was true.

Harry backed involuntarily toward the door. _It was true._ Snape wanted to kill him. Right then, right there. And maybe…maybe this time Harry had made him mad enough to actually do it, regardless of the war, regardless of everything else. He backed up another step, hardly aware that he was doing so.

"I am not going to harm you, you foolish boy," Snape hissed, not moving. His eyes bore into Harry's. "What is wrong with you? One moment you are headstrong, more foolish than brave, and the next you are cowering out of fear that I might kill you."

"I don't cower!"

"No, Potter," Snape conceded with surprising speed. "You do not cower. But you wear your emotions on your sleeve. I have learned in the past few days that I do not perhaps know you as well as I previously thought, but that one thing I have known since the first day you set foot in my potions class. I always knew when you were angry enough to nearly lose control, or intimidated enough to not fight back. It is a weakness that the Dark Lord will use and exploit if you allow him to see it." That said, Snape turned back to his potions, visibly giving up on the fruitless conversation.

After a moment, Harry returned to his ginger roots, feeling stupid for his rash assumptions. It was just…that _look_ in Snape's eyes. Harry knew he'd hit a nerve. Either he was right, and Snape simply had enough self-control to not kill him before the war was over, or he was wrong…in which case there was something else driving Snape's hatred of him other than outright wanting him dead.

He'd never put a lot of thought before into why Snape disliked him, only that the professor was a git and that he didn't like Harry's dad. But he saw with real clarity at that moment that the person Snape hated wasn't really Harry – how could it be? He'd never bothered to know the person Harry really was, separate from his father or his schoolmates. Snape had merely decided long ago that he _wanted_ to hate him, so he looked for reasons to justify that hatred.

Snape wasn't talking, so Harry chanced a question. "Why…why do you hate me, sir?" it was an honest question, and Harry asked carefully, without sarcasm or complaint. It struck him briefly how surreal it was to even ask it. Only a week ago, he'd have rather died a gruesome death than pose such a question to Severus Snape.

Snape's movements paused, his back still turned to Harry. He turned slightly so that Harry could see his profile. His sneering profile.

Harry cut Snape off before he could begin. "Look, professor, _you_ know I'm not spoiled, and _I_ know I'm not the best student or rule-follower. But whatever you want to say, I'm not an idiot." Harry winced at setting himself up for a scathing retort. He rushed forward, "You hated me before you ever met me. It had nothing to do with _me_. So what is it? My dad? Is that it – the whole reason? Or is it about Sirius? Did I meet you and pull your hair as a baby? What?"

In contrast to the outrage Harry expected to see on Snape's face, the sneer on his profile actually turned to a smirk.

"What?" Harry questioned, then immediately started. "Wait. _Did_ I meet you as a baby or something?"

Snape turned all the way round to face Harry, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. "Once. I sneered; you cried. It was very satisfying."

_Now_ Harry was uncomfortable. "I…I didn't know that," he responded lamely.

"It was after your parents were killed," Snape offered guardedly. But he offered. And it was more than Harry had expected him to offer.

Harry barely knew what to say. "But…I thought I was brought to my aunt and uncle right away. How could we possibly have met?"

Snape shifted, and if Harry didn't know better, he'd have thought Snape looked a bit nervous. Then it dawned on him. "You went to see me? After I was with the Dursleys?" he asked incredulously.

Snape hesitated a moment before admitting, "I needed to know with my own eyes that the rumors were true." He lifted his chin a bit, though it didn't erase the distinct air of discomfort that surrounded him. "Very few people in our world knew at that time where you had been placed; I was one of them. So I went."

Harry couldn't speak. Hell, he could barely breathe. The thought of Snape going to see him as a baby was…well, it was _weird_, to say the very least.

"If I had wanted you dead, Potter, I could have easily killed you then," Snape stated evenly, and Harry felt his eyes pulled into the professor's black gaze. "You were alone in your relatives' yard, barely walking and unaware of the danger a visitor represented. I could have easily lured you away from the wards which surrounded you, but I did not."

Harry lowered his gaze again, not thinking of anything to say to that.

"I did not kill you then, and regardless of the consequences I will exact upon you for wasting perfectly good potions ingredients, I have no desire to kill you now."

Harry spared a glance at his potion then, the murky substance in his cauldron attesting to its failure. Never mind that it was Snape himself who pulled him away from it, resulting in its ruin. Harry didn't want to change the subject though. There were too many important things to think about.

"So…if you really don't want me dead…why do you hate me, then?"

"What do you fear?" Snape countered, getting back around to the question which started it all.

Harry crossed his own arms, mirroring Snape. "Are we doing the question for a question thing again?"

"No. I do believe we are beyond that, Potter. From now on, you will answer my questions because you have made the tremendous claim of being able to trust me, despite all past and recent actions denying that fact. You will answer my questions because otherwise, I will refuse to accompany you on any possible missions."

Harry jerked his head. "You mean…you'll agree to the plan if I answer you?"

"I _mean_ that I will consider the possibility of its merit," responded Snape. "What do you fear, Potter? What do you fear more than anything else?"

Figuring that was the best he was going to get, Harry reluctantly gave in. Unfolding his arms, he leaned onto the counter as he considered his response. "I…I guess my greatest fear would be…well, I think…death."

"Death," Snape stared at him disbelievingly. "Pardon, Potter; I find it incredibly difficult to believe that you, with your rash behavior and penchant for attracting and looking for trouble, fear death more than any other possible horror."

"I don't!" Harry denied automatically. "I mean, not like you thought. It's not like I want to die or don't get scared about the idea, you know. It's just, that's not what I meant. I didn't mean my own death." He took a deep breath and plunged in, "I meant…death of people around me. They always die – take my parents and Sirius for example. Just when someone starts to care about me, they leave me and I never see them again. And…" Harry looked away from Snape while he tried to come up with the words to describe what he was feeling, "And…it's…um…pretty much always my fault. And that's what, um…scares me. I'm afraid that something I do or some wrong decision I make is going to be what kills my friends. Or that just knowing me might be what ruins their lives. See, I never had friends before I started Hogwarts. Not even one, not really. So I really need them – I need my friends. But…maybe they'd be better off not knowing _me_. And…um, that's what scares me."

Silence permeated the air for a long moment, which to Harry seemed like hours. He couldn't meet Snape's eyes after what he had just confided.

Just as Harry felt he was going to die of embarrassment before getting a response, Snape spoke briskly, "Thank you. You may resume your work. Empty the contents of your cauldron and begin again."

Harry did look up then, and stared. "Wait. That's it? I tell you all of that, and all I get is a 'thank you, you may resume your work'?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter; were you expecting to jointly commiserate over your confessions? I was under the impression you understood that I was not arranging the question as an introduction to a heart to heart chat."

"Well, _yeah_. I know that, but –"

"But what, Mr. Potter?" Snape fixed him with an inscrutable stare. "I heard your answer; it was enlightening. Now resume your brewing."

Harry turned back to his potion, as he was told, but not before muttering a few choice words under his breath. Of _course_ he hadn't been expecting to talk about it, but he had been expecting…he didn't know…some sort of acknowledgement, maybe? It's not exactly like that was the easiest thing in the world for Harry to confess.

Or, well…it _shouldn't_ have been easy to confess. Harry stopped his chopping as a thought hit him. Maybe _that's_ what was so bothersome – even though his confession had been hard to vocalize, it wasn't near as hard as it should have been to confide such a thing to his hated Potions master.

_Was_ he starting to trust Snape? Like, really trust him, not just claim to? Harry shivered suddenly and shook his head, even while he was thinking those thoughts. He hated Snape! He'd sworn to hate Snape forever!

He stopped pretending to be working to turn and stare at Snape's back. He hated the snarky, greasy git…didn't he?

_Didn't he?_

And with that question fresh in his mind, Harry hissed and closed his eyes at a sudden, sharp pain in his scar.

The last thing Harry felt before delving into Voldemort's angry mind was a warm body catching him as he collapsed.


End file.
